We Should See Other Blogs

I just finished posting my first Craigslist ad ever. And not even for me, personally. Oh well, it’s a First, right?

As I pushed my coffee cup aside, I realised I was still thirsty. Water. I would start drinking water.

Having played an exciting board/tile game last night, having had good times all round, having drunk beer and eaten cake, the office seemed a less cheery place. As he typed, he though, I work too much. But there was no alternative. Perhaps, he thought, slavery will never really be abolished.

He put down his coffee mug in the usual place. It faced the usual direction. The only difference being the time. 1500 hours. Drinking coffee at that time of the day was unheard of. He raised an eyebrow and gazed at the cup. The usual place. The usual direction.

Perhaps today he would change two things.

As I drove behind the Ford Expedition, I began to understand what a behemoth that particular SUV is. I couldn’t see around it, or through its windows. I could only skulk in its massive shadow.

When I passed it, I had a moment of satisfaction. The giant is not agile. It is, in matter of fact, fragile in its superfluity.

As I stood in line at the coffee shop, waiting to order my boss a breakfast sandwich, I overheard a man ordering a 4×4. It took me a morning moment to wrap my head around that upon which I felt a little green about the gills. That someone could actually ingest such a beverage was — and is — beyond me.

I contemplated my evening, dividing it into slots. Gym and computer shop: 1.5 hours. Tidying up at work and driving home: .5 hours. Showering and driving to Oakville: .5 hours. Meeting in Oakville: 3 hours. Driving home, putzing around, and getting to sleep: 1.5 hours. Estimated drop-dead time: 11pm.

It’s Christmas morning, and the internet is awfully silent. So in lieu of having any actual content to spew forth, I’ll just say Merry Christmas. Or for those of you who don’t think being merry is quite right, Blessed Christmas. And good luck with the rectal stavectomy.

I fed the sheaf of paper into the shredder. I watched as it was pulled inexorably towards its disassembly, but felt no grief at the sight. From my desk I grabbed another. It, too, would be consumed.

It turns out I had underestimated our network drive usage: a dialogue box popped up telling me the disk was full. Impossible! I thought. But it was full. So I took some archived files off and searched for my co-workers MP3s. There were some MP3s on the network drive. But not for long.