Thursday, June 28, 2007
MP3 players and Pie Crust Promsies
|My friend D assures me that all men are not assholes. |
I ask her a list of 3 who aren't. And her immediate family doesn't count.
It's thrumm'n Thursday. That day of the week when I drag into work looking rumpled and slightly dirty. I'm here. I'm exhausted.
When the alarm went off this morning, I could barely rouse enough to acknowledge it. I was having a nightmare about being in a power wheel chair because it was the only way I could move fast enough through the day to get everything done.
That's the last time I fall asleep with "Girl From Uncle" on the TV.
Today I am comforted by the secret solace of the tunes on my MP3 player. Those little slices of un-infringed copyright exotic sweetness that remind me that I have a life and a personality outside of drudging to work and piloting the car on a thousand errands a week.
I've just spent two hours setting up a CA Unicenter Plan Analyzer job that won't run. It won't run because the user requested way too damn much for one job. But it's my job to sit here 8 hours a day making impossible requests a reality.
I really need to bring in an ice bucket to keep my water bottle in. It's too hot in here and the water gets hot so fast.
I started out to write about the joy my MP3 player gives me and the pie crust promise quality of all the songs I have loaded on it. But now, my mind is twisting in the wind and wondering why I don't take the time to pray like I should . It's wandering around sniffing here and there. My attention span has failed to cross the river once again. Perhaps I'll clean up this post later. Perhaps not.
Monday, June 11, 2007
It's that time of day again....
|It's that time of day again...French Radio Station time. |
By the end of the day I don't want to hear anyone else tell me one more thing. So the XM radio gets flipped over to Sur La Route FR. It's XM's french adult contemporary station. There's music, it drowns out the office, and even though people are singing their heads off...I don't know what they are saying.
A tiny existential vacation in a sea of afternoon desparation.
It's easy enough to sing "Don't dream it, be it." But nobody tells you that "Being It." is one long hard uphill battle sometimes.
At least now I know what I want to do next. Wonder if Dr. Frank N Furter has any tips? Any man that can dance in 3 inch platforms must know something!