seaslug

In which our hero desperately searches for something about which to post*

I've done virtually nothing all week. I uploaded all the work I was tasked to do, the deadline came and went, my stuff is online, and the job is done. I'm twiddling my thumbs and I don't like it, but not enough to do anything about it.

Next week and the week after I have to teach again. I'm six months out of practice, having spent all that time developing web-based materials, and I'm nervous as a result.

My backpack is starting to come apart at the seams, meaning that sooner or later, as I amble along, stoop-shouldered and toes pointed dramatically outward, like the Keep on Truckin' guy of ages past, the thing will de-coalesce down to its component molecules, such that my books, papers, work-issued Dell POS laptop, bag of raw almonds, collection of BART ticket receipts, unexplained accrual of sand, pens, pencils, laser pointer (green), mousepad, mouse, network cable, work-issued cell phone, phone chargers (work and personal), flash drive, white board markers and eraser, multi-tool, and stray cat hair will crash to the unyielding sidewalk and scatter to the four winds to my everlasting and debilitating humiliation.

Has anyone in the blogosphere yet made note of the fact that the only people, in this entire Imus brouhaha, who actually have nappy hair are Alfred Charles Sharpton and John Donald Imus? I cannot state with any certainty at all whether either of the aforementioned gentlemen are ho's. In addition, I wish to state, publicly, that, at this point in what I only loosely refer to as "my life", I would not refuse a head full of nappy hair if it was offered. I also wish to state, because my grammar tends to reflect its Florida public school origin more often than not, that I would only accept the nappy hair, referred to in the previous sentence, and not the head to which it may have been previously affixed.

...

For lunch, I wandered down toward city hall, looking for something different to alleviate tedium. I should have taken my camera. I may just blow off work altogether and wander back down there. I stopped on the corner of 15th and Franklin to eat in Rico's Diner, a neat, narrow place with a counter, a few tiny tables chairs and booths, and license plates from many states nailed to the wall. A tall, thin Asian boy with a ponytail dashed in and greeted the Asian girl behind the counter exuberantly, all moon-eyed and obviously smitten with her. "So nice to see you again!" Behind him waited a man in a tan suit. A sky blue scarf was draped over his shoulders and he wore a matching sky blue and white necktie and polished sky blue and white shoes. On his dreadlocked head, an immaculate Panama hat. Behind him, a young man with unshaven black hair in black t-shirt, black jeans, black Converse sneakers, and black matte wheelchair, stretching up to shove a dollar through the mouth of the upright, bright yellow, semi-opaque, fish shaped tip bowl. A woman at a table leaped up to help him and he said, calmly, "It's not a big deal. Really." I had the smothered pork chop with mashed potatoes and green salad. Drastically unhealthy and they put my cool green salad on the same plate as my steaming mashed potatoes. A pet-peeve. Skeeves me out. Lesson learned.

I'm back in my office now. My drab office, white board with six month old scribblings to my right. It's not really my office. It's a hotel space that I manage to acquire every day. At gunpoint. The man who loudly plays rap music on the stereo of his Harley Davidson has already rumbled past my window, as he does every day. In fact, I saw him earlier as well, a few blocks away, as I was wandering back from Frank Ogawa Plaza. The sun is shining and, when not standing in the chilly breeze, the weather is wunnerful. Does it sound like I'm talking myself into playing hookie? I am. Here I go.

*having little motivation to do anything else
I have to send something to Frank Ogawa Plaza next week.

I don't think I have the words to explain how insanely covetous I am of your ability to just up 'n leave work. As we have a filing today, the only way I could get out of here safely would be through the need of EMT's and a profuse amount of bleeding.

Time to get a new backpack, amigo.