Where am I?

Botkins, perfect cube Botkins. He is currently occupying the cubic space above my right shoulder, thus making him the angelic half of my conscience. As of now there is no demonic counter, so everything I write is golden and effusive and trumpet melodies at the gates of heaven.

I have had an excellent day -- as is the course for most days and all Tuesdays.

Production meeting for ENRON earlier went well. A lot of talking happened. A lot of me sitting with my arms crossed happened. For about one minute (of the 120) I talked about what I had done and would continue to do as I compose techno-bluegrass moonshined romps. It was great. I love to be around people who have ideas and creativity and who seem very important; I imagine them all to be anyway, even if they aren't.

Liz made popcorn -- vegan chili cheese popcorn victory -- and I devoured it as we soaked in some of the last episodes of Battlestar Galactica Season 3. I won't say anything, because if someone reads this some day and hasn't gotten to the end of Season 3, I would be equal in shittiness to Baltar (and that's not a spoiler.)

Now it's 11:41. I am not tired, but have filled my day with all the beautiful things I wanted. Walking, chocolate, songwriting, techno-music mosaic puzzling, Battlenerd Addictica, yogurt-infused rice, more walking, writing silly stories, stalking cat, being stalked by cat, admiring cat's spontaneous gymnastic spasms, and being with Liz. I even applied for a real job at American University. Let's have a prayer to encourage that job:

I am poor

You're less so

Jake gets job

or

Gore will flow

Not ex-VP

Not Vidal

Slice one, two,

three,

Guts will fall

I know where

You all live

It's right there

on

The website you give

You will beg

Kittens weep

Your head's an egg

I'll

crush in your sleep.

I really think that's the right vibe. Yeah, I'm gonna get that job.