Jun. 2nd, 2004

raybear: (Spike)
Work is terrible right now, as far as the atmosphere. Four new bodies, specifically legal interns, and various running around of meetings and deadlines and whatnot, none of which I'm involved with. Woot. Except I will be giving up my computer for my volunteer and I fear claustrophobia will be following soon. My "cubicle" is a bit small for more than one person.

And there go my big plans for writing this afternoon. Oh well.
raybear: (mr. lunch)
Earlier today I started a journal entry with this:

A cerebral dampener, a downer, a chemical substance that softens the blow of the harsh light of life except where did all those sharp observations also go, the ones I just had in my brain? I don't like the deadening after all.

Too bad I can't remember what the hell I was talking about when I was interrupted in typing.

I had lunch with Poet Coworker where we sat in the hallway in the alcove and ate food from home and talked about writing. I spend the whole afternoon working in tandem with my super volunteer. And now it's almost 5 o'clock and my desk seems to be approaching a state of neatness that might indicate I'm leaving sometime soon. The piles of paper are disappearing while the recycling bins are overflowing. A sign to leave.

Ah, home.

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