August 12th, 2005


There might also have been killer mice...

I dreamed last night that, while I was out of the office for one day, they moved my desk to a different floor. I wandered in circles for a while and somehow got bundled into a meeting with another editor and her manager. The editor was filing an expense report with truly shameless line-items. She wanted reimbursement for all her meals and snacks, and for a bunch of videos she'd watched. Huh, I thought.

When I found my desk at last, I discovered that our office had become a department store and it was opening day of the annual back-to-school sale. Horrifying--there were shoppers everywhere, and a huge auditorium had appeared in the middle of the store, full of hundreds of trainees.

The dream segued into shopping with my mother, who wouldn't buy me any fall clothes. I was enraged and obnoxious, and in the back of my mind, I knew it was unjustifiable, because I was of age and fully employed and living at home.

This of course illustrates:

* The unfixed nature of my internal compass
* Angst over my unreturned rental videos
* My fear of small schoolchildren
* A need to buy more clothes

I leave you with this stolen thought of the day:


hard stuff

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Meanwhile. Acronyms that were applicable on the bus today: STGDS ("Stop That Goddamn Singing") and STFU ("Shut The Fuck Up").

And over my lunch hour I tried on swimsuits. It wasn't all that traumatizing, at least when viewing the lower two-thirds of my body. However, all the suits were designed as if to say: "Hey, look at my breasts! No, really, look! Are you looking? Look again! Now keep looking! Closer! CLOSER! Can you see them? *Can* you, huh, huh? *Huh?* Right there! *There!* The ones spilling out of the suit!!!"

Yeah. But I think I got an okay one. I'm inching my way toward the lap lanes.