January 3rd, 2007

Back To Work

After being a total drunken slacker since Friday, I'm easing myself back into work today. I only had about three beers last night and slept very, very well, so I'm not hungover.

I don't have anything due immediately so I think for my first day back to work I'm going to focus on easy and mindless stuff like sending out pitches for new jobs and sending emails to clients who disappeared without paying final invoices in the week between christmas and new years.

For the first time ever I have an EU guy who wants to pay by wire transfer rather than Paypal, Western Union, E-Gold or any of the other easy payment options. So, I'm also going to go online and figure out what sort of bank numbers and shit he'll need in order to send the work deposit to Rome Girl's French bank account.

It's about 60 degrees here today so I went out around noon and sat and read the International Herald Tribune while drinking a coke in a sun.

I also passed by Fitzpatrick's where the workers are practically dancing in the street because French Bartender, Lurch and Young Scottish Boy - all of whom have fairly high levels of annoyence potential (though we love them anyway) are off on vaction this week.

It's the lunitics are finally really in control of the asylum.

The Wonder Part Two

Around four in the morning I woke up in a cold sweat under three sets of covers to the sound of my cell phone bleating at me for no discernable reason.

I picked it up and felt bad when I realized that the person was for some reason deciding that he or she needed to tell everyone at four in the morning that they were leaving their partner.

As I put the phone down I realized that right next to the bed was a half a shot of vodka I had not finished before I fell asleep and that the warm thing I felt on my right breast was my little cat throwing her arms around me.

I stroked the cat and downed the vodka and thought about how the half of the bed that should have been filled by Rome Girl felt sort of empty but then I started stroking my cock and imagining three or four different rome girls or variants of rome girls or potential rome girls or people who could have been rome girl but would never be rome girl because of the way they were brought up or the bread they ate when they were nine years old and realized how unlikely it was that rome girl ever existed and then wondered if rome girl really existed or if she was just like the bats and the spiders and the story my dad told me when I was young about America being the land of oppourtunity and that freedom was more than a lie.

And then I realized it didn't matter, so I figured I would not return the call of the guy or girl that was telling me that they had broken up with their guy or girl and instead I'd just do the last shot of vodka and touch my cock one more time (not to completion) and just fall asleep imagining the best bart and best rome girl that could be while thinking about the best orgasm that we could both have with the worst person to have it and then I realized that I was no longer awake and was simply standing back and letting it all be.