Rampant breeding ground
2003-09-23, 2:10 p.m.
I'm a dedicated little journaler. Not a journalist.
I hate building a house. Can't it all just be over? Can't somebody please just build a nice house and I'll come live in it and not question what kind of toilets are in there? Because I don't care. I want the kind that fully flush the turds all the way to the ocean, thanks so much.
I'm approaching my job as if I have a definite timeline for leaving, let's say...October 31st. I have to clean, file, tie up all the loose ends and put out all the fires so that my board won't come in on November 1 and see what a mess this place is. Of course, once I get it all wrapped up (or warped up, whatever), I won't want to leave. See, this is how I trick myself.
So that's the goal - I'm leaving October 31, and I don't want to leave a big scary mess for November 1. Heeeeee! Do you think I'll catch on? Do you think I'll figure it out? I need to culture an alternative or additional personality to keep secrets like this from myself. Crazy much?
Oh how I love saying "I digress".
If I get one more piece of bad freaking work news today, I'm going to have a running screaming fit. Just wait til you see the horror that is a running screaming fit.
My little Lil Guy.....awwwwwww! I love him so.
Stove. Oven. Toilets. Bathtub. Faucets. Shower heads. Kitchen sink. Ventahood. Light fixtures. Ceiling fans. Counter tops. Drawer pulls. Blah. Blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blah.
Well, fuck it. I'll go back to work. My brain is empty now. Perfect breeding ground for work-related activity.
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