I will have to keep this blog post brief. For some reason, my internet is very slow this evening. Pages that used to come up nearly instantly now take 30 seconds or more to load, and then it goes back and fills in the pictures. Even logging on to this blog took a couple of minutes tonight. People somewhere in the neighborhood must be doing a crap ton of downloads. At the rate this is going, it will soon be faster for me to write a series of 1's and 0's on a piece of paper and rub the resulting page against the monitor with the expectation that the computer will absorb the numbers through osmosis. I'm almost ready to test my theory right about now.
I have only about 6 minutes of material left to transcribe in the much-delayed Bobby Mac interview. Should have been done with it long ago. Hurting my back last month really slowed me down. Even at work, I find it difficult to sit for long periods of time, so every hour or 90 minutes or so, I refresh my water mug at the chiller outside of the kitchen. It entails walking from my work station past a bunch of other ones and then down the hall. 90 second round trip. It relieves my back for the next period of time until I become uncomfortable again.
Invariably, I run into a few people who are wandering the halls. They speak to me and I say hello back. Some of them, I say the same things to, day after day. One guy in particular, who shall remain nameless, always smiles when I tell him that he looks more handsome with every passing day. Other people see me and say, "Hi, Bevboy!" I keep telling them that it is my secret identity and should only be used outside of work hours, but they persist. Yet more ignore me or affix a baleful eye on me, as if I were dirt underneath their feet. It's their loss.
If I don't need to refresh my water cup, I go over to talk to someone. He's very intelligent. I have no idea what the hell he is saying half the time. I mean, I know it's English and everything, but the subject matter flies blissfully over my head. I just nod sagely, ask a question or two (pretty much just repeat something that was said in a previous conversation, only in the form of an interrogative statement) and return to my desk, wondering if it's time to retire. When I realize that it isn't November 30, 2018 yet, I gird my loins, paste a grin on my face, and get back to work. But a little piece of me dies every time.
This entire blog post has been about work avoidance. You see, I have a sink full of dirty dishes, and Patricia is not here to wash them. That means that I have to do them, and should do them afore she returns to the city in a few days' time. If not, I will never quite hear the end of it. Remind me to tell you about the time she asked me what kind of clothes she should wear. Yeah. Remind me. I still haven't quite heard the end of that one!
See you tomorrow, all 4.7 of you!
Bevboy
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