I missed the Ides of March.

[1wickedboy]

It's strange not feeling. I've realized that over the course of the past six months or so, I've become rather numb, jaded. It's both good and bad, mostly bad. I think it's why I can't write. I wrote because I felt things so deeply that I needed some sort of catharsis to deal. Now, though, it seems that nothing effects me anymore, nothing can touch me, and I'm just looking for someone or something that can get to me.

Anyway.

A semi-humorous conversation I had with Linda yesterday on our smoke break.

Linda (gesturing toward the road down below the hill): What are they doing down there? (a van with flashing lights sits parked, men in white uniforms are collecting trash from the ditches along the highway) Hunting Easter eggs?
Jeff: (laughs)
Linda: It's nice that prison inmates pick up our garbage for us.
Jeff: They don't let, like, axe-murderers out to do such things. Do they?
Linda: God, I should hope not. Oh. Chris [the administrator of our facility] spoke to me. I was walking downstairs and I ran into him and he said, "Good morning, Linda!" I kind of mumbled, "Hi, Chris." He's thrilled that I'm leaving. I probably made his day.
Jeff: Or his two weeks.
Linda: He's just such a strange guy. He's got the personality of a...
Jeff: Capitalist?
(They both laugh)
Linda: Okay. Yeah. I can see that.