T.G.I.W.F.

So I've got a job again. It's not much: I get here at 8:30, eat a croissant, then spend my day reading through legal documents so boring they could, um, enlarge a hole to a precise diameter with a cutting tool by means of rotation. Also, apparently, boring enough that I'm getting jokes out of the dictionary.

There are bonuses of course. Like, you know, getting paid. And replenishing my pen and scissor supply. Plus: I'm only working three days a week, which makes every Monday a MonWednesday, which in turn makes every Wednesday a WednesFriday, which in turn pleases me immensely. In fact, T.G.I.W.F.

This also means I can remedy the conspicuous lack of bloggery that went on in the last couple weeks. When I've got no job or my job happens dressing up like a criminal and participating in a scavenger hunt, I tend to stay away from the long sessions at the computer. And when I've got no job, I've got no money, and when that happens, my days are a thoroughly invigorating mix of eating fake-cheese products and following the sunspot around the couch. In other words, not exactly the stuff of great literature. Or, for that matter, mediocre blogerature. (And yes, I think I may have just coined a word more annoying than blogosphere. I apologize).

Of course, the dream is to one day not have to work. Because being in a band, well, it's work, but it's not Work. It's like if you were a nine year old and you had to test candy all day: sure, some days you get stuck eating Necco wafers, but overall you're probably a pretty happy kid. Sure, you'll lose your teeth when you're an undergrad but still: free gobstoppers.

For now though, I'm paying for my candy by perusing expert testimony and requests for document production and objections to special interrogatories. Of course I'd rather be at home playing the piano. That's what ThurSaturday is for.