Progress = Rut?
Every time I get into a work grove (read: get ahead, or at least maintain deadlines), I convince myself that I'm clearly destined for a life of hard work and no play. Never mind the fact that I manage to get wasted once a week and laugh until I pee my pants twice a day. I guess I'm just miffed I'm not a trust fund baby. I fully realize that I'll have a lot of money coming at me in about 20 years, but you know... that's 20 years where I could be playing homemade Plinko and collecting children in fur.
Speaking of children in fur, I can hear the cat next door crying. I do wish that I could tunnel a little hole for Annabelle and her neighbor to use. They could play together all day.
Got a television studio tour today. Man did I want to push every last button on the mixer. What a fucking huge, motherfo, large-ass, incredibly impressive looking piece of hardware. Fuck I love buttons.
Got a voicemail from Ryan. Listened to it during choir break. "Hey Kimmie, just checking-in to see how your day is going. I hope we can get together again soon. Have a nice night!" You know who used to leave me voicemails like that to discover at breaks? Jason D. Mallory. And especially on Mondays. Man. I really wish I knew what I wanted with all this. Ryan is not as lively or bold as Jason D. Mallory. He is, however, more sensitive, and much, much more sane. But still. Is he goofy? No. Does he make me pee my pants? No. Just what do I want at the end of the day, anyway?
Alright. Back to reading and writing... duties that just repeat themselves day after day after day.
I think a little cheese and cracker action will fix this moody shit right up.
Speaking of children in fur, I can hear the cat next door crying. I do wish that I could tunnel a little hole for Annabelle and her neighbor to use. They could play together all day.
Got a television studio tour today. Man did I want to push every last button on the mixer. What a fucking huge, motherfo, large-ass, incredibly impressive looking piece of hardware. Fuck I love buttons.
Got a voicemail from Ryan. Listened to it during choir break. "Hey Kimmie, just checking-in to see how your day is going. I hope we can get together again soon. Have a nice night!" You know who used to leave me voicemails like that to discover at breaks? Jason D. Mallory. And especially on Mondays. Man. I really wish I knew what I wanted with all this. Ryan is not as lively or bold as Jason D. Mallory. He is, however, more sensitive, and much, much more sane. But still. Is he goofy? No. Does he make me pee my pants? No. Just what do I want at the end of the day, anyway?
Alright. Back to reading and writing... duties that just repeat themselves day after day after day.
I think a little cheese and cracker action will fix this moody shit right up.