scenes from a murky pond
WALKING IN MEMPHIS IS NOT BY ROD STEWART, IT IS BY MARC COHN, SO THERE.
Saturday was a nothing day. I didn't swim, I didn't run, I didn't spin, I didn't hike. I barely moved. I did go for a walk, where I bought some shoelaces. They are "aubergine". I was a little upset I couldn't find bright red ones, but that's okay. Really, they're just shoelaces. But if I do get frustrated enough with this job and decide to end it all, I will go to the extra effort to buy flashy shoelaces to hang myself with. It's amazing the similarities between my cubicle and jail. It's a 6x8 foot square with no real sound insulation... if someone is snoring or farts in the next one, I can hear/smell it. All I'm really missing is a built-in toilet and a 7' roommate named "Buddy". I believe there was a discussion this weekend involving what people around me would think if I started crapping in here. That would sure solve that problem of people pestering me! In fact, I bet I'd solve the whole problem of this job in a hurry. But there are drawbacks, namely that I would have to crap in my cubicle. And that explaining why my previous employment was terminated to future potential employers would be a bit of a bear.
"... and why are you no longer working there?"
"I pooed in my cube. Regularly."
"I see. Um, don't call us, we'll call you."
Anyway, I'm trying to make a conscious effort to be more happier (yes, intentional gramatical error, thank you) about my job. It's not bad. I'm finally not sapping my parents' retirement fund dry, and even though I'm bored out of my skull all day, experience is experience. And I will move on to bigger and better things. And man, am I going to get a lot of riding in if I'm here this summer, because I'll come into work at 7am and leave at 3:30 and be able to do centuries during the week, not just on Sundays. HA! So there. I'm hoping I can force myself to ride to work at least once or twice a week, weather permitting, but that means riding all the way out to the Jacques-Cartier and then down Taschereau (I think), which is stressful enough in a car... we'll see. Anyway, I'm really stoked to get riding again. It's all I'm thinking about these days. I'm sick and tired of the spin bikes, and the monotony of grinding away in the weight room by myself, and of trying to figure out what to do on the days when I know I lifted yesterday and I'm spinning tomorrow, but the pool's crowded and my knee hurts... so I guess I'll just twiddle my thumbs aggressively to get my heart rate up over 130 for an hour or two. I'm spending just a little too much time looking at bike porn, and all the sudden $2500 isn't seeming like that much money, so maybe I should just get a credit card and pay off a bike bit by bit... WHY?! Bad, bad, bad. I don't need a new bike! The one I have is juuuust fine. But new bikes are shiny! And squishy! Oh, no, this isn't good. This isn't good at all. I need to get me a man who works in a bike shop so I can get pro deals. Or perhaps turn pro so I can get pro deals myself. That would be nice. I'll get right on that. Right after I solve that pesky cold fusion thing I've been working on in my basement.



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-Monkey Boy