yawn.
This update comes from one of my two places of employment. I have been working non-stop (which probably explains the lack of any live journal entry) for what seems like much longer than it must actually be. I am the only person here. The only thing keeping me company is the slight hum of a fish tank positioned somewhere behind me, and the page I am slowly filling with gibberish.
I am currently sitting here expecting customers to make returns, however, a thought surfaces from the bowels of my cerebral cortex suggesting that nobody will "come a knockin'", so I lie here in wait for a guest that may never arrive.
I have come to the conclusion that I have had a homing device implanted somewhere in my body within the past year, however the only thing that the large government agency responsible for it is using it for is calling merchant vessels with large masts to cross my path at the perfect moment every time I'm working at the beach.
The last 3 times in a row my beach boulevard experience was brought crashing down upon itself as the lights blinked and the road rose to a grade that my car could not respond to, as a large meandering water obstacle took it's sweet time passing through the ever feared DRAW BRIDGE.
If i haven't made it official, i will now take this time to do so: I HATE TRACK BALLS.
Paige*.
Also, whoever enjoys the smell of napalm in the morning must also enjoy headaches in the morning suggesting that he or she may be an alcoholic.
As you may or may not have noticed by now, I have run out of words to type so, this is Bill, once again, signing off.
*Inserted randomly for the eyes of the all mighty google to peer upon, and then report its findings to any and all who seek the aforementioned word.
I am currently sitting here expecting customers to make returns, however, a thought surfaces from the bowels of my cerebral cortex suggesting that nobody will "come a knockin'", so I lie here in wait for a guest that may never arrive.
I have come to the conclusion that I have had a homing device implanted somewhere in my body within the past year, however the only thing that the large government agency responsible for it is using it for is calling merchant vessels with large masts to cross my path at the perfect moment every time I'm working at the beach.
The last 3 times in a row my beach boulevard experience was brought crashing down upon itself as the lights blinked and the road rose to a grade that my car could not respond to, as a large meandering water obstacle took it's sweet time passing through the ever feared DRAW BRIDGE.
If i haven't made it official, i will now take this time to do so: I HATE TRACK BALLS.
Paige*.
Also, whoever enjoys the smell of napalm in the morning must also enjoy headaches in the morning suggesting that he or she may be an alcoholic.
As you may or may not have noticed by now, I have run out of words to type so, this is Bill, once again, signing off.
*Inserted randomly for the eyes of the all mighty google to peer upon, and then report its findings to any and all who seek the aforementioned word.