Jul. 19th, 2010

slaughterhouse: misc: dreams & nightmares (misc: dreams & nightmares)
Things are good, though I can't begin to tell you how exhausted I am right now. It's literally had to move I'm so exhausted, and keeping my eyes open is a trial. I'm not sure why I'm so worn down — I think maybe spending a few hours at the office surrounded by loud, boisterous people, wore me out. Sometimes people just make me tired.

My bike got a flat, which was irritating — but Mike fixed it for me on Thursday, so I've got wheels again. Boys with bike grease all over their hands and forearms: more attractive than they have any right to be.

Press day on Wednesday should be short, my section's only two pages. I got a second monitor at the office, finally got my desk all set up to accomodate it. It's fucking glorious, I can't even put it into words.


slaughterhouse: misc: vampires & zombies & racoons (Default)


It is so short and jumbled and jangled, Sam, because there is nothing intelligent to say about a massacre. Everybody is supposed to be dead, to never say anything or want anything ever again. Everything is supposed to be very quiet after a massacre, and it always is, except for the birds.
And what do the birds say? All there is to say about a massacre, things like, "Poo-tee-weet?"
- Kurt Vonnegut

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