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2001-06-01 || 12:11 a.m. Need games, need fun, don't need stress... Cutie pie. Looks like work's going to kill me again. I've been asked to hand in my week-end availabilities for the next eight weeks. Oh well. My doctor's going to kill me for working those hours, but the bosses will haul me up a yardarm if I don't . Oups, pulled one way; oups, pulled another. I'd feel popular if I thought either of them cared for me as anything other than a statistic. I should prolly wave my doctor's orders in front of their faces or something, but that sounds like work and I'm a lazy goat. I had NMB and Bananna over for a poetry weurkshoppe to-night. I made spaghettini with diced italian tomatoes, parmesan, and parsley. We drank some of the leftover beer from the week-end and finished my bottle of Fonseca Bin no. 27 fine reserve. Now I feel all psyched up for writing again. Feels good. I feel words moving about in my head, sort of kicking out the dust, I guess. More news as events progress... Hey, I just found a 500 Escudo note under my keyboard ??? I've never even *been* to Portugal... Blech, I'm dull, brain's atrophying right now. too much work, not. enough. play. ing... |
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shite One last little note... - 09.21.2006 de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006 Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006 More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006 Scary stuff - 05.25.2006
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