28 August 2007

I'll give you espresso

Bleach, happiness is stifling my creativity. I think I’m going to have to give my mother a call later or possibly throw myself down an elevator shaft. Either/or.

I’ve just re-emerged from a bank holiday which actually achieved the opposite effect of what a holiday intends. Rather than rebuilding morale when it comes to work, an extra day off will dissolve most of the defences I’ve developed the week prior – defences that allow me to do my job without having to reach for the taser gun in my top drawer (kindly administered by the Ministry of Imagination).

The revised holiday sleep schedule (to bed before the birds and up by noon) doesn’t improve the situation any. One of my colleagues keeps interrupting me to say that he’s going to email me something and then he emails me something. I think he could probably make better use of the body text but I can’t think of a nice way to say this, so instead I say, “Okay, thanks.” And grit my teeth.

Thankfully, I’ve so much on that my day is nearly, oh so very nearly over. And you’re so very nearly interested in any of this.

Thank you to Stuart for reminding me that the Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players exist, because I really wanted to catch them on tour. As it turns out, we’ll be seeing them on Thursday.

And thank you to Knocked Up, for showing me brief glimpses of the birthing process ten or fifteen years too late. Now that I’m actually contemplating children, I’m fucking terrified.

And a big shout out to the arrogant barista at Waterloo Station for reminding me of the second biggest reason I avoid the bitter-tasting beans of your numbing espresso-based beverages: I don’t like coffee snobs. If I want to drink an Americano, I’ll go to Americano, yeah? Until then, you can either give me a Nescafe or SHADDUP.

But when did this turn into a dedications page?

Hey, so holidays in three weeks! We’re flying to Zagreb and then taking a bus to…somewhere on the coast of Croatia. I’m wondering if it’s worth starving myself now or just waiting until we’re there, since between avoiding restaurants that serve fish stew (not for Bruce) and those that serve pizza (not for me), I likely won’t be eating much of anything.

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