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If I ever complete any novel-length piece of work, I am going to either title it 'The Ballad of an American Dreamer' (yeah, stolen, but I doubt the originator of the title will care) or 'Shithouse Literature'.
I am thankfully alone in the office at the moment. Approximately 30 more minutes of non-itchy bliss. I hate that itchy kind of bliss. It never fails to irritate. Then there is the Christie kind of Bliss, but I think she is in Illinois.
The Czech d00d working here poked his head in and rattled off a few phrases about RAM or somesuch. He reminds me so much of the brainless Jiri from 12Snap that I feel often the urge to violently vomit the contents of my digestive system onto his primness.
Yes, 30 fleeting minutes until my meeting. We will discuss inchoate ideas and from them devise half-baked plans. Same shit, different gathering of the intelligentia where I work. Damn. I have been here less than a week and I am already one jaded motherfucker. I'd rather be a jade motherfucker, actually.
Jsem velmi sileny z idioty.
@flavigula@sonomu.club
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