Tuesday, March 02, 2004

All night I could not sleep. I kept thinking, "What sort of garbage did I just post? Why would anyone want to know about some mouse that nested in my car? Who cares about my working conditions?"

I shuddered to think what would happen if I left a weird entry out in public. With the polar icecaps melting, paranoia is a valid response. So I put the offending blog entry in storage, in a folder called Drafts.

I promise not to write any more weird things. From now on it's serious, intellectual theses on molecular biology.


Just in case you are wondering, here's what I wrote last night (the horror!):

Tonight I am exhausted. I managed to get quite a few errands done (working on some night school project, being flicked out of a store by some lingerie saleswoman, making an appointment to snip off my locks, trying to convince a librarian to let me renew Nelson Mandela's autobiography one more time, and buying hooker boots).

With so much activity I haven't had time to stop and think of something to write. In fact, today not one weird thing happened. It was a very straightforward, almost sterotypical Caucasian day.

I went to work and typed away like a typing monkey. I have been typing for months now but I am still at the part where Hamlet meets the ghost for the first time.

Do I go the predictable but safe route and make Hamlet the undecisive lad? Or do I throw in a few flamboyant squid to hoodwink the entire Danish court and make off with the spatula of Hamlet's father? Every few minutes I had to call over Mary, the Rework Project Manager, to discuss the plot line.

Our new office building will apparently be dynamited tomorrow so I will be working from home. Lisa and Mary gave me a stack of Coles Notes in preparation for the big scene where Ophelia takes that horseshoe and fashions it into a dulcimer.

After work, I rushed to the car insurance office. The last time I went there they gave me a license plate with the letters "JAF." JAF means collision in Romanian. Now I have "DBR" which is short for Doberman Pinscher. Just for the occasion I picked up three Doberman hitchhikers. They took me for a few pints at the Doberman bar. I pretended to fall asleep, just so I could hear what exactly dogs talk about when we are not around.

The conversation turned to cats. Cats' claws and cats arching their backs. You know, a stereotypical Doberman conversation.

I also had to flush my radiator. Under the hood, there on the motor, was a plastic bread bag. Oblong desiccated poops and dandelion fluff covered the battery. My sullen aunt said it was The Comrade.

And finally I am home. Exhausted but content. Anisoara is wandering about in her hamster ball. I am digesting a meal of eggplants, onions and brie. A hot tea and that death row inmate penpal article should lull me to sleep.

Good night, gentle readers!

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