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Monday, Oct. 07, 2002 - 9:12 a.m.
JonasParker, your guide to the other side

Our receptionist emailed me the following (keep in mind that she is French):

You were in my dream last night. In my dream I was lost in a commercial center. Incredibly big commercial center with labyrinths and underground corridors.

When I finally got outside I did not know where I was. Then, somebody tapped me on the shoulder and that was you.

I looked and besides you were your "friends": 2 rappers, with pants almost down, kinds of yo-man type of guys. You were dressed

the same with a winter bonnet on your head. You just handed me a cookie and went inside saying I would find my way in the neighbourhood.

Neat, eh? The thing is, I frequently get leftover cookies and such from the restaurant downstairs at the end of the day and give them to her, or at least split the proceeds with her.

So think I was some sort of guide for her. But, as a rapper? Not me at all. I like the description of me in the "winter bonnet". That was cute.

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Monday, Oct. 07, 2002 - 8:44 a.m.
I hate Mondays

What a shitty sleep I had. I was up every half hour due to noise.

My bedroom can also double as a laundry room. It sounds worse than it is; it's actually a nice bedroom. Anyway, the dryer exhaust hole is in there. There are flaps leading from the hole to the outside where the steam can escape. Last night was exceptionally windy, and at the time I didn't know/think about the flaps.

Anyway, the flaps flapped all night, leaving me with no rest at all. Having no sleep does bad things for my vision, and this morning I pulled a JonasParker special. I thought about bringing my glasses with me, reminded myself that it needed to be done, somehow convinced myself that it had been done, and forgot the glasses. Now I can barely see, and I will have to look at this computer screen all fucking day.

When I realized this, I swore in French, much to the entertainment of my coworkers. To top it all off, I forgot to change my white socks, so now I look like a goof. Mondays are fine days.

0 scrawls at the end of this hall

The look:
The feel:
The taste:
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