The minutes are going SO slowly. I feel like I am in a daze. It sucks.Somebody give me five things that are a matter of life and death and NEED to be done within the next hour. I haven't worked since about midnight last night and I think I'm slipping into a coma. Yuck.
My editor said I need some time off to de-stress after the Burtis story. I say let me work it off. It's not like I have any life other than work anyway. My kids are reasonably self-reliant (I type as Nova gets herself some chocolate milk) and like to do their own thing a lot. We are all good with it if I just put in an hour or so here and there giving them my undivided attention. It's not like I want any life other than work. I'll rest plenty when I'm dead.
If I had my way, I would never do anything but work and work hard all the time. My stupid grotesque body would not need food or sleep and it would mostly go away. I would be arms for carrying my camera, recorder, notebook and laptop (skinny arms). Hands for typing, taking pictures and recording stuff. A head to think of ideas and create stories. Eyes to see what's happening and ears to hear it. My mouth would be only there for asking questions and I would have a foot for driving with. That would be me - oh and I would be mechanized. No other bothersome squishy bits are needed and it would be peachy if they would all just drop of somewhere. I would feel nothing and be nothing but a reporter at work.
Well, I guess I'll go clean my basement a bit, figure out how to finish my desk by myself and wait for another story assignment.
Les Becker, at
Sun May 07, 09:52:00 a.m.