Dispatch From the Day Job

July 3

Ahh. Another tough day at work. Here's the details of my day (partially completed, partially extrapolated):

8:45. Get to work. Talk to my co-workers. Wander around. Get something to drink.

9:00. Sit at computer. Check e-mail. Read a couple of journals. Open up Photoshop. Fix some messed-up images. Sing quietly to myself. Periodically stop work to play with Company Cat.

10:30. Go to propane store. Get propane for Company Grill. Go to grocery store. Get chicken, bread, pasta salad, potato salad, several ears of corn.

11:15. Return to work. Write a couple of e-mails. Mess with images some more.

12:00. Shuck corn.

12:30. Read the Rumor Mill. Envy the success of others.

1:00. Have a birthday party for a co-worker. Eat grilled chicken, corn on the cob, etc. Have cookies and ice cream.

1:30. Write this Tropism entry. Check e-mail. Be sad because no one has sent me e-mail.

2:00. Wander down to the mailbox. Check mail.

2:30. Finish up images. Make a few edits to a manual.

3:00. Leave to run work-related errands. Go to drop off a video that needs to be dubbed, drop off a Fed Ex, go to Post Office to buy stamps.

4:00. Go home!

This isn't a wholly typical workday... but it's not all that unusual. And tomorrow is a paid holiday. Why do I complain about my job?

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Hey, go read Scott Nicholson's story "Scarecrow Boy" in the current issue of Chizine (this is one of the stories that beat out my own beloved "Behemoth" for a place in the issue).

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I'm writing this now because I doubt I'll have an opportunity to write later tonight. Heather is coming down this afternoon, and tonight we're going to the Ani DiFranco show at the Civic Center. Good folking fun. Tomorrow is a writing-day for both of us. I'm going to finish my Mr. Li story (lord willing and the river don't rise), write poetry contracts, read slush, and maybe work on Genius edits (if time permits). Then Heather and I will go see some beautiful fireworks and sit I hope on the grass somewhere and kiss as lights fill the air above us. It should be a good day.

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Oh, yeah. I remember why I complain about my job. Because it's hot. Woo. Hotter than a salamander's armpit in equatorial August. I'm sitting here at my computer sweating. This sucks.

And on that note, I'll bid you all farewell.