it doesn't seem like the days are getting shorter. Yesterday lasted a week.

My magazines came into use tonight.
The appartement has looked as if someone threw sterile wall paint to the walls to balance out cootied couches. What a universal theory.
IF WE PAINT THESE WALLS BLANDLY ENOUGH NO ONE WILL NOTICE THE SMALL ORGANISMS CRAWLING ALL OVER THESE PLAID COUCHES WE PUT IN HERE IN THE EARLY 90'S.

And so I prada-ed the walls. I editorialized the walls. I janis joplin-ed the walls.

Someone talks about how they quoted Bob Dylan at a Mariah Carey party on my wall. Does your wall do that?

My wall is a static name dropper.

I'm kind of a whispery person. So it's a bit odd to be supervisoring at the grill.
I'll share a classic tactic of mine with you.
I approach a couple of aimless workers.
"I'm going to need someone to cook more chips."
It's not even specific or direct (although slightly redundant). I don't even sound commanding. But they do it.
Oh the insanity.

I like jobs that pay me to live but don't pay enough to live it up.