If a cow ever got the chance...

I blink and sixteen days go by. These have been sweet days, waiting. Not much is expected; you can just sit quietly, drinking lots of water, collecting boxes, preparing. the air has been liquid gold for the past week with beautiful striped clouds that are pink at sunrise, red at sunset. I love my apartment now that I'm leaving it.

I don't even mind my job now that my resume is updated to 2004 and two jobs have been applied for (one of those was two weeks ago and I haven't heard anything, doubt I'll get called for an interview. e-mailed my resume to the other place this morning). Meanwhile my hell books have all gone to the printer, and apparently the typesetters sit around talking about how much they like working on my projects. I'm good at my job and I can do it for as long as it takes to find something more meaningful. There's no hurry.

Otherwise, I spend most of my free time hanging out with Carlos (who is very happy and kissy these days) discussing my plans to seduce JME (plans that have not been implemented because I'm not sure I really mean it because if I didn't really mean it, it would be obnoxious of me to offer, and plus who knows if I'm even her type, and it's so much fun anyway to sit around on her back porch eating falafel sandwiches and smoking cigarettes and trying to pet her evil cat without it trying to bite through your wrist vein, that there seems to be no hurry there either).

Is this what it's like to not be depressed? Is life really this ridiculous and amazing most of the time?

Do you think they fucked up my Lexapr0 prescription and I'm accidentally taking 70 mgs a day instead of 10?

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