Morning.
Out until 2am at Max's Upstairs on Thayer Street with Chris and Dave last night and now it's 9:42.
Coffee. Lots of coffee.
Ok, I had one coffee so far. Time for another, but let�s compose a short ditty of a poem first.
�
Home
I am in the key hole
I am on the doorknob
I am in the doorway
I am on the threshold
The cat doesn't try to run out
Doesn�t seem right
I have pockets of lonely
I am 29 years and climbing
We are a different age every minute
The cat appears and yawns like a lion
that just snorted valium
I am free from the door
I am stand alone for just a minute
I am still turning towards the door
I am 30 years away
I am 30,000 feet from College
I am hands full of cat wishing for thumbs
I am lock door before morning
I am couch and cat purring
I am eat
I am sleep
I am run, run, run
�
Someone in the office bought bagels, I think I�ll go eat two more.
What is it with offices and bagels? Why can�t bagels be spelled bagles, that�s how I type it every time. Bagles it is then. Why do people in offices eat so many bagles, why not muffins? Why not scones? I think office meetings should have mandatory scones, maybe people would actually eat them. At least once a week here at the cube farm, someone orders a big ass tray of bagles for their �we really need to start planning this meeting so we can begin the project plan� meeting and an hour later the tray of bagles is sitting next to the coffee pot growing harder by the minute. Ohh that sounded dirty.
Free stale bagles, free crusty cream cheese, free office coffee on some astral plane has to equate to workplace violence SOMEHOW. I know they�re related. It�s a good thing I took martial arts for so many years, it makes being a pacifist less frightening...
Well, I�m off to the cholesterol station, I mean free bagles. Manja.
