reward & punishment

last night i wrapped up a storyline in a more than satisfactory manner; my protagonists are so pleased with the outcome that their good mood has rubbed off on me, despite my trite and puerile use of myth and metaphor. and hey, you gotta love a protagonist who can win out against his own genetic makeup, blizzards, seizures, a fight with a cargo bay [yes, that's what i meant to write], and seven aggressive and heavily armed older brothers to get the girl and only lose one extremity in the process.

then i discovered i was out of trazodone, so i tossed and turned all night and slept hardly at all.

i'm a bit woozy this morning.

bad cat stories

and this is a very bad cat indeed: cat shoots owner with 9mm handgun.

this, ladies and gentlemen, is why i don't keep guns.

signs of the times

walking through the hall. pass guy with facial piercings and full sleeve tattoos wearing leather pants. not a blink. pass goth chick in tiny miniskirt. nice boots. pass big hairy guy with beer gut, barefoot, in shorts. nothing out of the ordinary.

pass guy wearing suit. give self whiplash. think, "damn, he looks cool." linger unobtrusively, checking him out, until he vanishes into a conference room.

wonder, "what the hell is he doing here dressed like that?"

back in DC, where men wore suits, i lusted for scruffy grunge boys. working for EA, a guy in a nice-looking suit makes me weak in the knees.

yep, i'm still a rebel at heart.