Thursday, January 26, 2006

I never did make it to the office today--I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a truck; not sick, just tired and tense. So instead I spent the day sleeping, reading T.S. Eliot to my cactus, chatting with the guy painting the laundry room, and writing letters. (I am woefully behind on my correspondence.) The evening will involve cooking veggies and looking at things through a magnifying glass.
And then tomorrow I'll go to work. I swear.

The laundry room painter had me stop each time I came through to look around and see if he'd missed any spots. What he said, in fact, was, "Do you see any vacation spots in here?" I thought that he was maybe talking to himself, that the fumes had gotten to him, but then he added, "I can't tell if I missed anything. All looks yellow to me."
As far as I could tell he hadn't skipped an inch, but then, it all looked yellow to me too.

At the coffee shop where I was writing letters, two women were sitting behind me chatting over cookies. I had focused on what I was doing, but stopped altogether when I overheard one of them say, "So I told him, 'Ok, forget that one. Try for spots A through F!'"
They both cackled loudly, and I looked around to see if anyone else had heard.

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