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march 29, 2002

04:00	tired nokia jumps to life on bedside table; hit snooze, teminate annoyance.
04:04	recall morning task, crawl to bathroom, then back to disable impending alarm 'un-snoozing.'
04:05	hot water implores mobility in lifeless hands.
04:29	brush teeth, apply deoderant, make faces at self.
04:31	remove last clean articles of clothing from bag, place on body. collect soiled linens from closet corner, stuff into backpack. Coil charger, pack laptop, and move unessential items from "briefcase" to "backpack" (1)
04:43	place bags by door, perform final walkthrough; realize yesterday's handwashed sheets are still hanging in bathroom, return them to bed.
04:47	descend three stories, open garage door, roll jorge, the 'material-girl' truck into forgiving pre-dawn light.
04:55	start N on hwy 17
05:15	passing lexington reservoir, call yellow cab, arrange leg 2
05:31	park in front of friend's house, quiet street, san jose. Proceed to street corner for intercept.
05:42	watch cab drive by (l->r)
05:44	watch cab drive by (r->l)
05:45	watch cab drive by (l->r)
05:46	field call from confused driver: calmly explain i'm standing on corner, have seen him pass several times, describe intersection in explicit detail (again).
05:47	watch cab drive by (r->l) again; make eye contact, then shake head.
05:49	cab returns, comes to lurching halt 5' away. open door, sit inside, give driver subtle annoyed look: "san jose airport please, terminal a, southwest." 7 mile ride: time enough to compile 5 classes of moving vehicle violations: failure to stop at an intersection. failure to yield right of way. speeding. illegal lane change illegal passing of school bus with red lights flashing.
05:59	taxi ride concludes, total fare : $16.20. Hand driver a $20 bill, ask for a receipt; receive no change, fill out "receipt" myself.
06:01	security queue for non-bag checking, pre-ticketed passengers. remove electronics from holster, place in coat pocket. change, keys placed in "briefcase."
06:38	arrive at metal detectors. remove laptop from bag, place in plastic tray, tray on conveyor, followed by bags, then coat & holster in a quick, concise movement.. proceed briskly through scanner, carefully avoiding eye-conact (the surest way to get the pat down), continue to end of conveyor for item collection: manage to gather all but briefcase before 'random security search' clause imposed.
06:42	maintain hawk-eye on 4' asian woman who dragged briefcase to particulate detection machine: simultaneously replace, rearm, and conceal holster with single fluid movement, just feet from national guardsmen.
06:44	asian woman returns, gestures inquiry to search bag manually. begrudgingly agree.
06:46	all articles again in my possesion, continue to gate A6, count heads in current queue (nine), evaluate factors (2) , continue to loo.
06:55	return to gate, now #14 in queue
07:07	approach check-in counter, hand attendant passport, itenary, and rapid rewards card: "has anybody asked you to carry anything on this flight?" think: why yes, actually: this remote-activated emf pulse device was given to me by a kind, but nervous looking fellow, just outside. i was certain the security scanners might notice, but it seems like you in fact are the only one to uncover me. answer: "no." "have your bags been out of your posession or direct control since you packed them?" answer: "yes, actually. a little chinese woman took it from me, hastily reorganized it's contents...," then pausing for dramatic effect, "of course, that was at the security checkpoint." hostess smiles
07:11	choose seat conveniently located near origin of soon-to-be boarding line, remove motorola from holster, check for voicemail.
07:17	unsolicited conversation with occupant of chair to the right. ex-cisco employee, now out of the ratrace, raises horses in portland. give pained, trapped look w/o response, conversationalist moves on to easier targets.
07:21	board plane, select seat. (same one every time). drop bags, continue aft to collect pillows, return fore. unpack water, bose headphones, place bags in overhead compartment, then close prematurely to deter other fliers from crunching laptop.
07:38	push back from gate, 3 minutes late.
07:41	plane from competitor's airline having tech difficulties on runway. pause 737 on ramp, wait.
07:47	grow wary of 'no electronic-device ordinance,' place headphones on head, close eyes, and feign sleep.
07:51	liftoff
08:10	stomach cramps render sleep impossible, all reading materials previously exhausted. distractedly remove palm from holster, begin tediously enumerating actions of morning. lose all track of time.
	...........
(1)	terminology exceedingly important for jetset: carry-on luggage mandates 1 bag + 1 'personal item' which may include purses, briefcases, ....
(2)	southwest mantra : no assigned seating, boarding in groups of 30, as indicated by fast-food style service #, given to passengers at check-in time. For a chance at desirable seating, be in this first group.

march 28, 2002 - 19:04

damned photons from aging crt, i can't see.  an entire day bombarded with radiation, strained eyes failing to pull focus in miserable flourescents:  i think i'm going to go home and eat.

(...after three days, the idea strikes me as nothing short of novel.)

i wish i was strong enough to fly home tonite.

march 28, 2002 - 18:20

obvious statement for the day : being 'ill' sucks.  be it the flu, a cold, something more permanent, or even something without a name.  (something like what is fucking with me at the moment).

a person can get used to not feeling "100%", and in reality, probably an unfortunate fraction therof.  (hell, i can't remember the last time i did)

--but it's something else altogether when you can't walk straight because you can't see straight, because you get all light-headed when you focus on the black dots that keep moving at the end of the hall, (which is probably because you can't walk straight), that really makes you feel weak and small and miserable and ...

on the other hand, there's certainly something to be said for the 'fevered dreams' that get packaged with the deal.  at times, they can border on insanity, and are nothing but heightened when you wake to find you've sweated through 3 layers of sheets.

disgusting.  yet... perfect?  i dunno, i guess it makes the dreamstate all the more visceral, (thus more desireable?).

having finally fallen asleep last night, i infiltrated russian libraries and retrieved stolen film clips.  i flew small airplanes and landed them on glaciers.  i drove trail-cat snowplows, and crashed them off cliffs.  i rode in the backseat of a vintage fleeing beetle heckling persuants as an ex-girlfriend tried to outrun a police cruiser...

...i even stumbled upon the solution to np complete (whilst merely trying to calculate the tip for drinks @ the pharmacy).

i woke up fevered, with clammy skin adhesive to cotton at least three times.  i recall crawling to the bathroom twice, and completed one bottle of arrowhead h20.

..but it wasn't until this morning that i noticed the gory artifacts of a bloody nose at some point in the night.  (admittedly, somewhat of a cinematic upgrade to the pedestrian hotelish bed linens)

it is later, as i dunk flatsheets in ill-suited bathroom sink with the shaky hands of an actively persued felon, that i can't help but to think : 'now, this *is* hardcore.'

(if i could just remember to try turning off the lights...)

march 25, 2002 - 19:21

during email banter this afternoon, a friend tried to convey her personal frustration regarding her current 'state of affairs' ::

"SF is so boring when your heart is in the UK and your mind is in LA and your feet are somewhere between the earth and the clouds."

...and honestly, i suppose that's why i liked her so much then.

march 25, 2002 - 9:05

note to self: find time in future to make fun of oregonian w.t. hillbillies you had the pleasure of sitting behind on this morning's flight.

yee-fucking-haw, and that's about all i can say about that.  (for now)

march 25, 2002 - 5:14

confused, as i drive up to the terminals this morning..  pre-dawn road is illuminated by an uncharacteristcally large number of lights; why are there so many cars on the road today?

initial concerns mount as i stop in front of the skycap; this place is a zoo, and cars are cutting every which way.  crap.  was it some sort of holiday this weekend?  easter is soon, i know, but i didn't think it was just yet.

( hard to tell which way is up these days, i feel so damn out of it. )

bringing the car to a stop, i jump out of the truck; it's a kind of high speed chinese fire drill meets cat and mouse hybrid.  the girl jumps behind the wheel, as i pull bags from the rear gate, and turn abruptly for the life-sucking flourescent lights of inside.

ugh...  this queue is going to take an entire fucking hour, if i'm lucky.

sure wish i was able to get the printer to work last night..  w/o an itenary, i'm going to have to sit in this cattle-call line, surrounded by fools waiting to check impossibly sized trunks of baggage.

imagination runs wild: fantasy scenarios unfold..  i wonder just what they are carrying in those huge trunks:  small children?

suddenly, as if pitied by some airport deity, jack is presented with a window of opportunity, and readies himself for an angle through it: a southwest employee strolls the perimeter of the line, asking that people have their ID's and itenary's out when they reach the gate...

<eddie-haskell grin>

"excuse me, mam?"  jack begins, "i don't have to check bags, but donn't have an itenary.  if i have a confirmation number, is there any automated mechanism to get a copy of the itenary printed?"  (magnify grin, twist with doe-eyed imploring look)

of course, having passed through this gate over dozen times in the past year, i already know the real answer (no), but was just hoping that...

looking around, and lowering her voice. "well, sure.  if you just follow me up to the desk, i can go ahead and print out your itenary for you."

sweeeet....

2.3 minutes later, as jack's walking up to the second queue (security) he notices a new route to the metal detectors, this one circumventing the hamster maze: sign above says "first class, flight crew, or rapid rewards."   quick hands jump to bag, pull the roughed red card, and hand it with passport and still-hot itenary to the gatekeeper.  (i am the keymaster)

jetset : when the tone of your entire work week can be weighed by your experience during the flight out, smooth mornings such as this can be construed as an impossibly pleasant omen.

march 22, 2002 - 17:42

as if suddenly waking from a dream, jack removes headphones and re-baselines with the world around him.  (decompression?)  now well after five on a friday afternoon, the workplace has grown empty and sedate.

jack smiles to himself, signs out of the queue, and returns still-warm headphones to his ears.  these 'phancy doo-doo,' noise cancelling headphones are just about the coolest thing ever invented. the day now functionally complete, jack welcomes the conclusion of week #4, and prepares for his trip to the airport...

admittedly addicting though: once experienced, originally invisible white noise haunts your unplugged hours; threatens insanity.

march 22, 2002 - 10:13

having now returned from light-touch lady and currently listening to the jujutron - pockypig themesong (kindly provided by rm) whilst eating cadbury surprise found on keyboard (purportedly left by the 'Ebunny'), jack is pleased.

march 22, 2002 - 8:01

second call from therapist: meeting time pushed back, 15 minutes.

her office is close, so i spend a few minutes stumbling across archived words of digital friends.  (it breaks my heart)

there is this girl, a girl so talented she could have anything she wanted, but doesn't know how to demand it.  in my head, i see her spark, sometimes intense and blinding blue; others, dim, and in danger of extinguishing.

she says she's exhausted.  of course she's exhausted...  like a molecule stimulated by heat, she moves quicker, faster, farther, but somehow always returns to stasis.

reading her journal this morning, it dawns on me that she's so very much like a cloud, but without a sky to float in.

(it breaks my heart)

march 22, 2002 - 7:37 - send me an angel ::

last night, around 10:30, jack lifts his face via stiff neck from cheap motel-ish (stainproof) bedspread, shakes his head.   upset at himself for 'losing time' again, loathing these impromptu periods of unconciousness.

(waking up in a room full of lights makes you want to die)

standing up, he walks to mirror and becomes lost in linen lines haphazardly racing across his face, eventually grimacing as gaze falls down to his hands.

straight to the shower -- 30 minutes of streaming hot water work to release tension, reduce inflamation.  (it's an anti-drug)

knowing there is little hope (having pushed it too far again), and exhausting hot water supply, he returns to bed, beaten.   this time turning off the bedside lamp, he grabs mobile before rolling over, time for a quick voicemail check.  (another true sign of desperation).

impossibility of impossibilities: missing hand therapist finally returns to planet, and has returned his calls late at night.   her first open session?  8am the following morning.

smiling to himself, jack returns the call.

'you couldn't have called at a better time.'

march 21, 2002 - 19:45

today was the first real test of jack's no-stress mandate.

upon his decision to return to the employ of the company, i promised that i would not allow myself to become overtly extended for work-related matters...  surely no point in living like that, especially for a company that had readily demonstrated its 'disposable' interest in my services...

<geekspeak>

after spending the better part of a week (as a background process), working on a data collection tool that i intend to publish to customers for work, i was finally ready to make my initial submission to the company CVS repository.

up until this point, i had been using simple filesystem naming conventions to denote verisoning and differentiate between discrete iterations of my scripts; for example ...

   $ ls foo*
     foo.sh 	(working copy)
     foo.sh.0
     ...
     foo.sh.23

my initial round of smoke tests had passed, and the core functionality was there.  i had created a record for it in the repository ( $cvs add foo.sh ), and was just cleaning out the different numbered (.#) iterations from the working directory...

   $ rm foo.sh*
   $ .
     bash: .: filename argument required
     .: usage: . filename

noting the error, i think to myself 'eh?  what is this?'  ...and then the painful realization dawns on me: 'oh shit.'

   $ ls foo.sh
   $

crap.  ring finger a fraction of time slower than the pinky; the . follows the CR.  to the shell, it's just a valid pattern match.

valid, yes, but not quite as specific as i might've originally intended it...  in fact, a command just generic enough to ensure that i had another new script to write.

no stress.  (it's surprising how much self-discipline such a simple statement would require.)  shrug it off, push back from chair, go for a walk.

eventually returning to his console, jack returns headphones to ears and opens a new editing session...

    $ vim foo.sh

flashforward: as tired eyes stare now at these words, hands obligingly continue to dance along keys.  with complete rewrite now complete, committed to source control, i sit and drone...

almost afraid to stop now: it's at night, when i'm away from the machine, that the real pain always comes.

it's when i'm half asleep and staring at the ceiling of quiet rooms, that wrist hurt disease is always the most miserable.

perhaps i can stay up forever...

march 21, 2002 - 10:26

Vs. i need to hear the new super-star themesong, "jujutron : pockypig."

maybe somebody will send it to me and light up my otherwise dark and meaningless day.

march 21, 2002 - 7:51

tuesday night, i crawled to tam's for life-saving injection of war-wonton soup.  with ceremonial delivery of bill and cookie, the following message:

non-traditional notions manifest escalating creativity.  seek liberation by taking care of business.

speaking of, let's get to work.

march 21, 2002 - 7:27

for some reason, i am completely retarded about throwing away movie ticketstubs.  i leave them in my pockets, only to be in the way when i'm fishing for quarters the next day.   finding them at home, i stack them in small, yet disorderly piles all over the house.

i understand why somebody might do this with concert stubs, but have no explaination for why i've held on to these...  just felt i should do something else with them, i suppose.

anyway, it's time to clean-up, clear-out: figure the only way to throw them away now is to start recording them somewhere...   so, ka-pow!, new posties.

certainly not an all-inclusive list, but i'll be adding to it as i stumble through the piles around the house.

oooh, movable layers; now how's that for a senseless waste of wrist?

march 20, 2002 - 7:12

so, last weekend, i tried again to see monster's ball.

as i was casually gathering my things to depart for the theater, a phone call begs a favor..  i break for the other side of the town, deliver food, and then race back towards the new theater target.

fantastic observation about portland: there's a seemingly endless number of art-house, privately owned and antiquated movie theaters....  of course, i have recently taken it upon myself to try them all.

being casual and sporadic (and since i hadn't tried this theater either), i parked my car around the block and began walking to the new destination.

at the time, the weather was doing this funny sunshine-snow thing, where everything was bright and wet, and these angelic snow flakes were gently falling from a clear sky only to dissappear, (be absorbed?  corrupted?), immediately upon contact with any obstruction.

i smiled at the touch, as one landed in my ear.

box office, wallet, $2 in cash.

continuing inside, my mind is reeling:  $2?   with admission prices this low, i could afford...

just then, to my right, i notice that they sell pizza and beer.   good beer, their own brewed beer, and at portions available by slice / pint / pitcher / pie.

"sweet."

pint glass in left hand, hot pizza soaking through paper plate in the right, i resume walking towards the seating area.  it is an old venue, like a concert hall, with balcony's and mezzanines.  rows of seats are interlaced with rows of tables (cleverly provided to place aformentioned pizzas and pitchers upon); i choose a seat just right of center in the balcony and settle in.

waves of nostalgia wash over: this perspective to the stage can't help but resurrect recollections of belle & sebastian in the city with jf.

lights darken, projector spins up: they begin showing the neat pixar animated short with the birds.  like most lasseteer (sp?) shorts, it's a clever piece, and sitting there, i'm pleased that some projectionist thought to splice it into the beginning of another film.

'$2 admission, real food, comfortable seats, and clever employees?  i love this place.'

about then, the short has ended, the credits have spun, and the feature begins...  "monster's inc."  err, but i've already seen this?

i half-collect my belongings, intending to go and search for the theater showing my feature, but then it dawns on me...  the "monster's" on the marque outside was completely misinterpreted by me; i assembled false pretense.

smiling at my mistake, and settling back into the chair, i take another gulp from pint, and think to myself...

'well, i guess i get to see the new 'out-takes' that they were advertising about.'

..........

the new week is now here, and i still haven't seen monster's ball.

march 16, 2002 - 10:23

on the flight home last night, i met a woman who works at the nw film center teaching video editing on avids, and runs her own production company on the side.

she gave me her number, and i gave her mine.

it would be really nice to meet some portland film kids, to find the vein here, and tap into it quickly.  i want to work on other people's crews, to build contacts and references; i want to be a film kid again.

( my wrists want it too )

i must promise myself to call her tomorrow...

march 15, 2002 - 21:32

a boy sits at airport terminal a2, sjc, and stares at 11 digits displayed on useless motorola.   this number, disconnected?

wonders to self: how can this be?

somewhat shaken by this development, he is eventually calmed by the thought of a red balloon floating gently above a noisy city.   it's oppressive tether, hanging decoratively below, tested and finally overcome.  it points down at him, then dances away, it's gaze swinging through blocks at a time, as if emphasizing their distance.

some people can fly on their own; i have to pay southwest.

march 15, 2002 - 14:32  (dragonspeak)

i am just endlessly amazed at the crap i get in my inbox...

A personalized email address like Multi@beingboring.com is attention-getting and easy to remember. For business use, a professional email address allows you to brand your company with every email you send. For personal use, your own customized email address will make it easy for friends and family to stay in touch.

Register.com is now offering personalized email accounts for just $29.99 a year (less than $2.50 a month).  Click here now and you'll be sending and receiving email from your personalized account in no time.

actually, if they're worth that sorta money, perhaps i might talk rm into a little money-makin proposition?

or, maybe i should just get back to answerin' the damn phone.

march 15, 2002 - 10:50  (dragonspeak)

today, right now, i hold in my hands the first paycheck addressed to me in over four months.  perhaps just as shocking as a bucket of ice water poured on unsuspecting head, i am suddenly reminded why i have taken such dramatic steps.

the plan is still on track, i must continue to adhere to the plan...  but first, first i need a latte.

( in the "i've got the 4-mo-withdrawals-junkie-tremble" sorta way. )

march 15, 2002 - 7:33  (dragonspeak)

distrust greatly any mechanism designed, or sold with the promise to simplify 'life.'

my morning : vmware suddenly decides it will speak not to the linux Xserver, and the linux image itself refuses to allow console logins nor boot in interactive mode.

solution?  reset.  re-install.

(sigh)

march 14, 2002 - 20:17  (dragonspeak)

dark : dinner plans recently dissolved with unsurprising phone call from flakey aquaintence, jack stares at screen in dinky cube in deserted office.

it's not like i enjoy the prospect of being here for 13 hours again today (just like yesterday, and the day before that, and...) it's just that i really have nothing else to do with myself.

i don't really know very many people in this town anymore (admittedly, a bit of a catalyst itself, whilst considering the recent relocation), i can't really drive around, and i don't have very much to go home to.

friends have graciously agreed to let me sleep in a corner of their victorian attic, a mere nook refered to by name as the 'hobbit-room.'

each night, i silently slip through the front door, up a creaky winding stairwell and into a room with violently sloping ceiling.  my 6' plus stature must bend violently at the waist as i feel around in the dark for unfamiliar obstacles while i make towards my sleeping bag stashed in the corner.

<fly>  
  <taxi>  
    <drive>  
     ( work, sleep ) 
     ( work, sleep )
     ( work, sleep )
     ( work, 0 )
    </drive>  
  </taxi>  
</fly>  

on the lighter side, i did finally get a machine up and running with voice recognition tonite.  perhaps that will help alleviate the recent spike in wrist hurt disease symptoms plaguing my sleep again.

(and maybe the company will hurry up and procure another magic keyboard tray...  after working so hard at fine-tuning process and posture for a specific setup, it's absence is now sorely noted )

then again, if they just got voice-over-ip up and running, then i could just do all of this from home.

...and wouldn't that be nice.

march 14, 2002 - 12:39

just another way to make instant friends all across the world ::

Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2002 20:50:03 -0000
From: "minibillybilly" <minibillybilly@yahoo.com>
Subject: just to say "HI"

Just say "HI" to all BMW2002 owner,I have one 73"2002 RHD.I live in Hong Kong.

...drive a 2002!   O=00=O (orangekar world domination)

march 14, 2002 - 11:48

bl says: 'jetset is the new pink, orange is the new black and relationships are ever so nineties.'

of course, everybody knows that jetset is the new pink, but her second statement through me for a bit of a loop...

orange is the new black?  really?  this is great!  julliette will be so excited to hear!

march 12, 2002 - 18:42

3:15 am -- retired nokia (used now only as dependable alarm clock) vibrates on window sill; armageddon finally arrives, or just time to wake up?

obviously the latter, but differentiation between even the most fundamental of contrasts (say, black and white?) at this awkward hour is difficult at best.

only one thing remains clear (and haunts me now, 15 hours later): --the final one-liner that survived the passage from dreamspace to realspace.  i have no context, but have been searching for it all day...

"ah right," i thought, "the old molasses and mango trick"

i sadly suspect i might never know...

march 9, 2002 - 13:36

we'll always be together,
however far it seems
we'll always be together,
together in electric dreams.

march 9, 2002 - 10:10

<rant>

so, i answered my first-ever call from a collection agency this morning...

get this: after 6+ years of perfect customer payment record, i cancel my account with pacific bell's little monopoly, and ask them to forward me the final bill to my new mailing address.

a week and a half later, i receive the bill (which was incorrectly sent to my old address and then forwarded here).  noting that there is no payment due date, i sit on it two days before mailing the payment, just so that i can handle it batch-like with a few other bills.  (which happened last week, i might add).

long story short, those bastards forwarded my account to a fucking collection agency two weeks to the date i cancelled it.  that and after the dumb punters mail my final bill to an address i explicitly told them to change, and then sit back and expect the us postal service to get it to me in time?

anyway, i kindly told the collection lady that the (totally ridiculous) claim was already settled, then inquired if this was common practice for pac bell.

'oh, yes.'

hmm..  would you mind if i could have a number to contact at pacific bell, just so i can give them an earful?

lucky for me, (or perhaps unlucky for the poor sap at pacbell that fielded my complaint), she was more than willing to oblige giggling-ly.

moral of story?  time and time again, companies prove themselves to be totally untrustworthy.  six years of stellar history goes flying out the window, as they think i'm fleeing the state to dodge their puny bill?

in the end, they're really no different from the company i work for; people are entirely irrelevent whilst searching for the bottom line.  not that this is really of a much surprise, i mean, that's the point of capitalism; however, i must continue to remind myself not to bend over backwards for them either.

march 8, 2002 - 17:29

jack stumbles from the theater with an almost crazed sense of ambition: it's time to cleanup, cleanout, and challenge old ideals.     ...and this time, not even the kittens are safe.

it snowed in portland this morning.

march 7, 2002 - 16:28

they should be erecting statuesque effigies in the likliness of this guy...  talk about 'touched by the hand of god;' --personally, i would finish the race, get off, and never ride again.

that's just about enough experience for a lifetime of stories.

march 7, 2002 - 7:28

you know, maybe having some 'support' responsibilities isn't such a bad thing after all?  i mean, i might not have had a chance to talk to members of vespa club di firenze :

... 'nice was reading an helping mail from a computer-vespaguy from USA. thanks again, greetings from Florence' ...

...or maybe i just need some coffee?

march 6, 2002 - 19:27

after stumbling upon a long sought after cache of lali puna auditory delights, se loops tracks deep into the night, whilst uncovering annoying bugs lurking in public libraries.

you know those times that cpan seems to good to be true?  well, it is, and now i suppose i have the opportunity to explain that to an 'enterprise' customer:

'dunno man, it's outta my hands...'

*sigh* time to go home, methinks; 'scary world theory,' is what lali puna thinks.

march 6, 2002 - 7:27

newest entry in the inbox hall of shame:

<snip>
The reason why I am contacting you is because I did some research and found http://www.beingboring.com in Lycos on page 25 for the search term "styrofoam craft supply".  I'd like to help you get higher rankings for all of your search phrases, especially if this phrase has nothing to do with your site.
<snip>

better yet, how the hell did this site come up (even on page 25) for a search with that sort of string?  don't think i've ever ranted about styrofoam before.

i guess it's time to change that.  ;)

march 5, 2002 - 7:37

dark: four months off, and it only takes 6 working days to call back the demons?  i find myself constantly making excuses, like i'm acting in an after school special, poorly trying to cover a bad habit...  wrist hurt disease hangs like a skeleton in my closet, saping me of what little hope i had left.

and it dawns on me: this really might have to be my last tech job...  or, perhaps it's just time to get into hardware?

nah, that would require more school anyway, and if i did that, well, i guess i'd like to do physics instead.

better yet, i wonder if i could be a zamboni driver on a cruise ship?  i saw a commercial once, and people were ice skating in the south pacific...  that idea seemed just impossible to me.

question of the day : are zamboni's whd proof?

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