So here I sit at my desk, once more marvelling at the fantastic(k)ness of this font. Honestly, we should add more 'k's to the English language, because it makes words better. To give you two prime examples: Fantastick and Magick. Magick, especially, should have the 'k,' to give it that flair(e) of Old(e)ness. That, and Tara freaking hates it, so I giggle a little on the inside whenever she twitches at the spelling.

Work has become a glorious feast of craziness, filling my days with actual work to replace the busy work that had been a part of my former job description. This leads me to removing my shoes (I sweat) and typing long emails to myself and my co-workers. Long and extravagant pieces which say what needs to be said in exactly as many words as possible, times two. This both satisfies my need to be long-winded as well as my need to hear keys being struck at a rate of over 70 wpm, which happens less often in my office than others. Fie working on phones all day! Emailing is clearly the way to run a business. Even as we speak (or rather, I type very quickly), I am pretending that this email is crucial to the success of our business and that some client on the other end is awaiting this with breath so very bated that if I don't complete it soon, we may have an asphyxiated client on the other end of our oh-so-unstable T1 line. And that would be very bad.

On to my point for typing this entry up in the first place: I don't have one. This is hardly new with me; I despise points, mostly because I have trouble crafting whole blog entries around one specific detail. This makes me envious of bloggers like John Barleycorn and Erika, who are both capable of sitting down with a topic or an opinion into which they wish to delve. I, on the other hand, type whatever comes to mind. Ah, burn it. I don't really give a crap. I do what I do and I like what I do. I really and truly am looking forward to being home at some point tonight and watching me some Buffy/reading me some Neil Gaiman. It seems nothing requires dissection in tonight's lab, so what that says to me is that I get to go home at a semi-reasonable hour tonight, hungry, cold and tired, but not smelling of formaldehyde.

That seems to be all that wants to come out of my head today. Take it or leave it. But regardless, leave me a comment, because if I don't receive emails in my inbox from somebody besides Bank of America or TurboTax, it may be time to find a new career in crying myself to sleep. Pity: it works.