halfknot

In a meeting, one of the managers said, "Well, you guys should be prepared to work through Thanksgiving. Who likes football anyway?" Coming from where I used to work, it took me a couple of seconds to realize that he was joking, but it was apparent to everyone else there. I like it here. When I was consulting, I'd clocked a couple hundred hour weeks, and there's no overtime. Hour for hour, I'm making more here than I was there. But I was ok with my life being my job then, I'm not so ok with it now. Granted, we're doing some really great stuff here, but I'm a selfish bastard and want to work on MY stuff, nevermind hanging out with friends and what-not.

I'm listening to Caribou, Bees.

I would like some gravy, yes please.

I would like to present this informally, in words, in any moment of the day, by, you know, talking and stuff. There's too much in my head that never gets out.

And to start working out would be good. They used to have gaols here in Massachusetts. Convicted of a heinous crime? Here's a shovel, dig a hole, you've got 24 hours. Next day, jump in, we'll slap some bars on top, toss some bread in every now and then until you die. I'm accumulating parking tickets. If I don't pay them soon, and they reinstate gaols, then I'd be really cramped. Unless I had already been working out for some time... then the hole'd be nice and roomy. But it's getting cold out.

I suppose there are worse things than being stuck here from 9 to 5. I suppose there are worse things than not having the presence of mind and the courage of words to speak what I want to say all the time.

Now I'm listening to the Stone Roses, Fool's Gold.

Hunh. Try going by the Owl Creek Bridge.