Thursday, June 27, 2002
A set of keys
Nose to the grindstone: post-trip reality blues and grays playing tug-of-war with each limb; pulling me in directions that I’d rather avoid yet are necessary now. New software transition at work; sitting in a dark room for hours and hours with too much coffee, missed meals, odd IT guys. Imagining every conceivable animal adoption/return/train/evaluate scenario, designing pull-down menus that contain the words we want. Is this item taxable/non-taxable and which of 500 account codes apply? Sigh.
Went into my barber’s shop and in his now-forever absence I sat in his co-worker’s chair and had my head buzzed by a former Mr. International Leather. I played tug with his pitbull, noticed the dying flowers at Paul’s station, his smile in a photo. Mr. IML said everyday brings in regular clients looking for Paul; several times a day he breaks the news.
I am starting another house-sitting gig tomorrow; a welcome break again from the tension here at home; I feel a superstitious reluctance to divulge here an ideal living situation that may be mine by week’s end; Louie and I meet with the landlord tomorrow. More to come.
