October 2002 Archives
even if you are fat.
If not for Ira Glass I know not what I would do. I love NPR with the purity and intensity of a young girl. Like sometimes I think I may throw up. Like sometimes I think I may explode. Like sometimes I want to be gathered up by its waves and carried off into the ether. Like sometimes I want to it to shatter me. I can feel it even when I don't listen, moving around and through me. I shake sometimes. I wish I could keep this secret.
The fall pledge drive is underway. I still listen. I can't help myself.
Not only is there a Ducan Doughnuts on almost every street corner, but my new job also supplies free doughnuts, muffins, and coffee every morning.
I am so fucked.
I have been seduced by the giddy trappings of power. A man named Lil' Ricky hands me a cardboard box full of office supplies and I am ready to sign over my soul to a law firm. He then tells me the secret of satellite supplies where I can fill up on legal pads, paper clips, and file folders (drool), but alas no sticky notes. People steal sticky notes. They are evil people. People who must have reminders wherever they are. People who write things down and stick things to things, their cars, their refrigerator, their front doors. I am not one of those people. I swear.
I have become such an anal retentive of late that my cube (a four person occupied solely (and sometimes souly) by me) looks still uninhabited save a single red nose, hanging from my monitor. I used to laugh at people like me. People who have to go to work during normal hours. The nice thing is that I still have zero responsibility. No thought. No one counting on me. No pressure. I am going to get some hot chocolate
Like all things I do, it seems tinged with a unintentinal depression
Like all things I do, it should not be attempted without a broadband connection
