Monthly Archives: January 2002

One would think that I’d learn to not browse the web before work. Five minutes until the bus gets here. I’m barely ready. No lunch. And what am I doing? I’m updating this blog for what I believe is the readership of twelve readers. Honestly. My nerve sometimes.

In other news, I think I may have a new job. I’ll wait for the offer letter, of course. Don’t want to be that guy, you know, that guy–

“Hey, I’m here for work.”
“Who are you?”

Okay, I’d best leave now. Bus at six thirty-six. Maybe one of these days, I’ll get a car, and then stop bumming rides off of everyone. On the other hand, I don’t have to worry about insurance, or other people running into my PARKED CAR. Which is what happened to Quix last night. It sort of happened in slow motion. I see this gold Chevy venture, thinking to myself, “Whoa, that’s awfully close–they should stop soon.”



Although it could have been much worse.

Currently Listening to: In The End by Linkin Park, Hit Me Baby One More Time by Dweezil Zappa

The thirtieth. One month of the new year has gone by. Crazy to think that it’s gone already. So far, so fast. This year brings with it new promises, new beginnings, new hopes. Of course, my music selection doesn’t really reflect that, eh?

Ah, very well. I see that you’re willing to play. That’s good. Fair is fair, after all. But now–what game do we play?

I remember you trusted me once. We can play your game, revealing only what we want, when we want. But you play my game as well. Give me your street address. There are many questions, Sabine. Some I can answer. Some, I cannot answer. But you have my word that I will do my best to unhide what has been hidden for so long.

When you’re young, you can make a lot of promises. You believe you can keep them. When you get older, you find that you have limits and that you have to pick and choose the promises you can keep. You get older, you try not to make promises any more to anyone. I made a promise a long time ago that I’ve broken. Since then, it has surfaced now and again in my mind like a piece of driftwood. Kept me aware of itself.

I’ll admit it was my fault that I didn’t keep it. But I hope maybe if that person’s willing, they can let me try to keep it.