Adoratio...

I think I actually managed to do less than a half-hour's work today. I feel so accomplished!

After showing up approximately 20 minutes late, (thereby missing the god-awful Monday Morning Meeting) I then proceeded to waste an entire day, helped along by eating breakfast for about an hour or so and then leaving for lunch/errands for an hour and 40 minutes. I talked to one customer for around 20 minutes, and I honestly couldn't tell you anything she said about herself (and she's most likely going to buy a car from me anyway). }:)

I went to look at an Extremely Affordable Condo, or EAC for short. It was in a beautiful neighborhood, with good highway, store and park access. The building was gorgeous, in a kind of funky old-time style. The cars in the parking lot (always a good indicator of economic prejudice) were nice, but not overly so, with nary a hooptie in the bunch. The only snag is the sign over the door that says 'Retirement Community'. Grrr...

}:(

P.S. I told her I wouldn't mind having neighbors who all went to bed by 8:00 PM, but she still won't let me buy it...

Flippanthetical...

I can't understand why the people in my extremely crappy apartment complex feel the need to spend their leisure time in our extremely nasty, garbage strewn, glass shard infested, demolition-derby-esque parking lot. And let their kids run around between the flying beer bottles and the speeding low-riders with the major bass distortion.

In my head I tend to gloss over the psychological impact of how I live. But sometimes I feel just plain disgusted when I look around at how I spend my days and my environment. I'm looking at buying a condo, but I've started to think that it's just another escape. How will I feel when I'm prompted to run and leave my name on a mortgage? I even looked up property in San Diego as well (surprisingly affordable). Is this the totality of my time on this mudball?

}:(

P.S. If time flies, and shadows fall, does shadow time fly or fall?

Intuidiction....

I had an interesting moment last week. In one of my stories (still languishing in need of a re-write) there is a character named, creatively enough, The Old Security Guard. I didn't really feel the need to come up with a name for him because it just wasn't important to the story, ya know? But at the Writer's Conference I was kind of zoning out during one of the presentations thinking about characters and how they seem to have a life of their own at times. And I thought about that guy and whether he would be upset to know he didn't have a name. But then, I realized he did.
Pete. Pete Driscoll. It was like once I thought about it, it just popped out.

What secrets is this brain thingy hiding from me?!?!

}:Þ

P.S. Translating from Brainguage to English can be rough. Stinky yak cheese muffin tendrils!!!