2004-10-29 - 11:35 a.m.

What in the world is going on between Margot Lane and Lamont Cranston/The Shadow? I mean, in the intro to the show the narrator always makes the point that not only is Margot Lane beautiful, but that she is also Lamont Cranston's "constant companion". They even go on vacations together. And yet they never seem to bump uglies. Maybe Mr. Cranston bats for the other team? Ok. No more euphemisms for a week, I promise.

Yes, today is random observation day. There will be no attempt at closure.

The guy who drove the bus I rode to high school was a total freak. He, in many ways, was the person upon whom I modelled my life. He had no friends, no living family and no reason to get out of bed in the morning except to drive us kids to school. And trust me, we gave him no sign of gratitude. We treated him like he was taking us to the concentration camps. Never was there a more sorry sucker. So, needless to say, he homed right in on me and I became the kid who the bus driver always talks to. He told me about his various operations and he showed me the scar on his eye from one particularly disgusting trip under the knife.

Maybe I should get my bus driving license.

I think I'm a smidge (yet only a smidge) too popular to be a school bus driver. Perhaps I could work in the cafeteria instead. Those women are social butterflies compared to school bus drivers.

I wrote a story last night. When I first started it, it lacked what I can only call immediacy. So I scrapped it and wrote the story as if it were a letter or a speech for lack of a better term from one character to the other. Near the end, I accidentally slipped into "he said, she said" junk. But tonight I will replace that with something that doesn't sound so much like a story. It breaks the immediacy of writing the story as if it were spoken. I meant it to be about this somewhat mystical experience that has haunted me since I was a kid. It didn't come out quite like that. it turned into a sort of meditation on the premature adulthood that kids often have. I think it's good but I haven't read it since last night and I don't have any critical distance yet.

Damn finance people are bugging me. This one guy can never write me an email to ask me something or request something. He always comes by and bugs me. Or! Or! Or, if he does email me, he CCs his boss, my boss and half the finance department in a fucking retarded attempt to pressure me. Retards... I could have given it to him two hours ago, but my boss came over to ask about it (obviously due to pressure from the finance guys) and I was so sickened that I dragged me feet and gave it to him much later than I planned.

I wish people would stop coming by my cube. It's right by one of the two windows in the office so people can come by here and pretend they are just looking out the window when in fact they are either checking to see if I am working or they are getting ready to drop one of those "Oh, by the way, while I'm over here, could you take a stab at this..." things. God, I hate those. I wish I was invisible.

I wish I had the power to cloud men's minds, like The Shadow.

Oh, fuck. That could be considered closure, couldn't it?


Reading Still reading about this Gatsby fellow. Haven't had much time to read
Wishing I had more time to read
Plotting Nothing. My diabolical scheme is already in operation

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