It must be a sign that I’m getting older and forgetful when I can’t even remember where I parked my car. Where I work, I park in the main parking lot; this lot is five stories high — four of these stories are “general” parking (the other is reserved, but I’m not going to spring for that until I get a decent raise).

Since I’m cheap, or since I don’t get paid enough (I’m not sure which, maybe it’s just both) I park in the “general” parking area — with the other cheap staff, or students (except the rich overseas ones, who just park their Mercs or Skyline GTRs or Supras in the reserved area).

Almost all of the time, I park on the fourth level of the lot. This is mainly due to the time I arrive; if I arrived around 10-15 minutes earlier, there are spots on the third level, which is a lot more convenient since there are no flights of stairs (third level has a direct ramp to the road). I opt for more sleep and take the fourth level. Anyway, I have increasingly found myself either stopping at the third level, thinking it’s the fourth, or going up to the fourth level when I parked on the third.

Going to where my car isn’t is bad for two reasons. The first means I must backtrack a little, which means dreaded exercise. The second means short-term distress at thinking my car’s been pinched. Oh the horror.

On a lighter and completely different note, it’s the weekend and the website redevelopment at work is coming along a lot faster than any of us expected. This means that I can relax and don’t have to bother about the website stuff at all. This is a good thing.