Marc
Dodge City, Kansas
"But if such a person finds it necessary, for the sake of his idea, to step over a dead body, over a pool of blood, then he is able within his own conscience to give himself permission to do so - always having regard to the nature of the idea and its dimensions - note that." Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment, p. 313
"Tri-nut, duo-peni. It's a protoype." Matt Fast, Matt Fast: The Chronicles of a Chemically Balanced Man In A Socially Inept World, p. 1005
I don't know what's wrong with me today. It's like I've gone off my rocker.
Nothing much to report that's new. I've not had service on my cell phone since I touched down two days ago, and I think it's extremely depressing to think that I'll probably not have missed any calls come Friday when I get all the way into Wichita proper. If there aren't any voicemail messages on it, I'm going to cry, I think. Wait. Maybe that's too emo. I'll punch a hole in the hotel wall. There. That's much better.
Work hasn't been that hard. I only was able to squeeze in ten hours today as the last site I was supposed to work at closes at four in the afternoon. Thusly, I'm sitting in the hotel staring at nothing. I've already bugged my IM buddies. Now I'm hungry. I've only eaten a cinammon roll today, but there aren't any decent places to eat out here, so I have no idea what's for supper. There's not even a Subway, kids. In Bloomtown it seems like there's a Subway on every third block. But not here. These people are too hip for Subway. They like shitty gas stations that serve beef jerky and Texas toast. None for me thanks. I'm all stocked up.
Maybe we'll talk later, my pretties. Maybe indeed.
Dodge City, Kansas
"But if such a person finds it necessary, for the sake of his idea, to step over a dead body, over a pool of blood, then he is able within his own conscience to give himself permission to do so - always having regard to the nature of the idea and its dimensions - note that." Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment, p. 313
"Tri-nut, duo-peni. It's a protoype." Matt Fast, Matt Fast: The Chronicles of a Chemically Balanced Man In A Socially Inept World, p. 1005
I don't know what's wrong with me today. It's like I've gone off my rocker.
Nothing much to report that's new. I've not had service on my cell phone since I touched down two days ago, and I think it's extremely depressing to think that I'll probably not have missed any calls come Friday when I get all the way into Wichita proper. If there aren't any voicemail messages on it, I'm going to cry, I think. Wait. Maybe that's too emo. I'll punch a hole in the hotel wall. There. That's much better.
Work hasn't been that hard. I only was able to squeeze in ten hours today as the last site I was supposed to work at closes at four in the afternoon. Thusly, I'm sitting in the hotel staring at nothing. I've already bugged my IM buddies. Now I'm hungry. I've only eaten a cinammon roll today, but there aren't any decent places to eat out here, so I have no idea what's for supper. There's not even a Subway, kids. In Bloomtown it seems like there's a Subway on every third block. But not here. These people are too hip for Subway. They like shitty gas stations that serve beef jerky and Texas toast. None for me thanks. I'm all stocked up.
Maybe we'll talk later, my pretties. Maybe indeed.
<< Home