Someone Keeps Moving My Chair

This morning, in a “closed-door” meeting, my manager informed me that thanks to some money shuffling going on after the demise of two expected business deals for 2005, my contract will not likely be renewed at the end of March.

It’s funny how two completely conflicting things crossed my mind the minute he said that: A. At least I’ve got six more weeks to earn as much money as I can, and B. I want to go home. Right now.

I don’t really know what else to say about that.

The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker

There’s a picture over there in Flickr of my sister Jennifer, proudly displaying a cake that she baked. I’m not bad in the kitchen and I’m getting even better on the grill, but I do not bake. With the notable exception of pies, most of my efforts at baked goods have, shall we say, fallen flat. Even simple things that come from a box don’t turn out well when my hand is on the pre-heat knob.

One of Emily’s hobbies involves playing with fire, and she has more candles in her apartment than I’ve ever seen in one place–except maybe a candle store.

I guess that makes me the Butcher. Somehow, it works for me.

I’m Fixing A Hole

I’ve started seeing a counselor. Shhh, don’t tell my mother.

It’s kinda strange so far, but I’ve actually only had one session, which largely consisted of questions like:

Crunchy Granola counselor: “Are you suicidal?”

Me: “No.”

CGC: “Are you homicidal?”

Me: “No more than most people.”

CGC: “Do you abuse alcohol?”

Me: “Again, no more than most people.”

CGC: “Do you use any other drugs?”

Me: “No.”

CGC: “Really? Not even, you know, cocaine?”

Me: “HAHAHAHAHA! Lady, let me tell you something. If I ever so much as looked at a line of coke, I would be a junkie-whore living in a gutter in about 10 seconds flat. So no, self-awareness precludes my use of narcotics.”

Moving on.

You’re A Superstar!

I watched my little sister model her wedding dress last night.

Wow.