And...here I am again!

I'm a blogging fool this week, aren't I?

I figure that after the sparse nature of recent posts, I'm down to about 2-1/2 people stopping by this place, which frees me up to be tedious, ramble on aimlessly, talk about myself all of the time, and never have, much less get to, any point.

In other words, business as usual.

Hey, speaking of business, it's Friday afternoon and I've pretty much worked solidly all week, so it's time for a little goofing off.

(My endless hours of blogging while at the office did not, it would seem, go entirely unnoticed by Alvin. Just yesterday he mentioned that my publisher must be getting impatient for that novel I seemed to be writing. Gulp. If I hadn't turned over a new leaf just a few days ago, I'd have been feeling pretty scummy, I can tell you. As it was, past is past, so I looked him straight in the eye and said my publisher was a fairly patient type. Heh.)

And now, having been accused, just a moment ago, of aspiring to work for the NYTimes, I feel that the American Way now demands that I stop working and complain about my boss, don't you?

He wanted press releases, okay? I don't have time to run around all over the place collecting quotes from people, so I wrote my own quotes. (I assure you, as I assured him, that they all sound much more intelligent when the quotes come this way. Hmph. Nor have I submitted any fraudulent travel receipts.)

Mostly, though, Alvin is a darned good boss. He even took it in good spirits when, after he declared, at the close of a little disagreement we were having, that this company isn't a democracy, it's a dictatorship and he's the one in charge, I continued to refer to him as Dictator-For-Life for weeks and made sure he got all of the icky work to do. In fact, just yesterday he suggested that from now on we alternate the D-F-L title. Today's my day, but since I'd forgotten about it until just now and since he didn't actually get into the office until around noon, I haven't had much opportunity to abuse my power yet.

Aside from that, and from tormenting A Certain Reader who has taken it amiss that I've posted a few story fragments, an exercise I declined to participate in at her invitation but undertook at the request of another friend, my life has been devoid of excitement this week. I've gotten a ton of work done, though.

I'm sort of impressed with the ability to actually work a full hour day that I've demonstrated this week. It's been, quite frankly, an astonishing number of years since I've done so. (Counting.... I figure, somewhere around 1997 since I did it on a regular basis.) It's not that I haven't been employed during the last five or six years, because mostly I have been. It's just that if working about 4 hours a day produced results that impressed all and sundry, what was the point of working eight hours? ( Actually, having been raised with a fairly well-ingrained Protestant Work Ethic, I attribute to my often ignored sense of guilt over my own slackerhood a fair portion of the responsibility for my subsequent, teeny-tiny breakdown.)

(aside)

From whence do you suppose this tortuous sentence construction comes?

(I'll tell you from whence it comes, you freak. For months now you've been forced to write in simple, declarative sentences in an attempt to produce user manuals and sundry other business-enhancing documents, and when you get to a keyboard on your own account, all of those unused clauses come tumbling out one after another until not even you can remember where you were going when the sentence started.)

(You love clauses. Not usually requiring to stop for breath when you're talking, you don't see much of any real need for reaching a full stop more than occasionally when you're writing.)

Sometimes I wish I'd just shut up and let me write, but no-o-o, at least half of my brain has to be occupied with watching me type, pointing out the increasing number of typos I make as the years go by, reminding me I need to do my nails, wondering if I could glue the cover to the stupid apostrophe key on, and insisting that I come up with something funny, or at least reasonably interesting to say that not about me before everyone stops reading.

(/aside)

I still haven't watched the final two Spike BtVS episodes. It's disgraceful, I know.

I started to watch a move on the SciFi channel last night, but it was so stupid in the first half-hour that I turned it off and watched taped episodes of WW instead.

Before I turned it off, though, I was watching to see who was in it and there was Ladyshoes! but it wasn't Ladyshoes, it turned out to be the Oil Rig Woman from Sen and then, look! there's that guy! that shape-changer guy from XF! And a pudgy Ryan O'Neal, not that I have any room to talk.

In the end, NotLadyshoes wound up impregnated by an alien jellyfish or something. I'm a little unclear on the details because I turned it off and then turned it back on to see the last three minutes. XF Shapeshifter guy survived, in spite of having been possessed by The Spirit and having been channeling god for a while or something. And having been about 25 feet from a nuclear explosion.

It's all possible in the movies.

Me, I'd probably have watched it. I love a cheesy disaster movie and having a rock burst up out of the ground and start menacing the earth in some way (I missed the exposition) seemed to me to be as cheesy as the concept could get.

I mean, worse even than the frog movie, okay?

My roommate, not normally famed for having a more refined taste in entertainment than I possess turned it off, so I ate chocolate while we watched the WW ep where Josh gets de-traumatized by Aaron Sorkin and, all in all, that made a pretty good evening.