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2001-11-20 || 10:38 a.m. || one foot out the door the other squashed by one of the work ladies || work isn't working. it hasn't been working on and off for a week. yesterday i got to go home two hours early. and i thought i would be home in time for crossing over with john edward, best show ever, but it took forty-five minutes for the bus to show up, nevermind get me home, and i missed it completely. but today. work is still not working and we have been given the option to go home and come back 'if we are able to' in the event it is up and working later this afternoon. i don't know what to do. i am in a quandary. precious vacation time used in such a throw caution to the wind manner, it makes me nervous. but it would be lovely to go home. write at the novel (which i have been working on all morning, covertly.) or watch a matinee of amelie at the albany theater. or do things i really must do like laundrycleanapartmentbuythanksivingfixins. or call someone up and have a lovely midmorning hang out. or buy some maddog 20/20 and sit on a curb somewheres, before noon, that's always fun. shoot. i don't know what to do. why didn't the work gremlins have the foresight to tell us no, work will not be working all week before thanksgiving. you should just take the entire week off. then you can drive to portland/drive home for mummy's cookin/drive to san diego to have a few really good nights with your sister and anthony. it'll be worth it, you can thank us later. stay. go. stay. go. long bus ride home. call someone from a payphone in hopes they are there. impromptu record shopping. lunch special at long life. keep firmly planted right here, work on novel, you need to keep the vacation hours for something truly fabulous. dag. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |