|  |  | | Blog Records: | Снусмумрик's Blog |
| | Thu, Oct 28, 2004. The Grudge |  | scared |
| Sometimes I really hate that my work is so weird, and that I just got here an hour ago (it's 5:30), and everyone else is going home to get his or her well deserved rest. I, on the other hand, won't get home until 10. Stupid criminals, stupid GED class that I have to teach, and there is nobody in the office...
Nobody at all. The chiropractor's office next door just closed for the day. Same with the insurance office. Our secretaries left, and other officers in my building are nowhere to be found. We have court in Jersey City tomorrow (yay, Jersey City!), so everyone is probably taking the rest of the day off. I have to work at least another 15 hours before the end of the week (I have to work 40 hours a week, but the schedule is flexible), so... | |
| | | Tue, Oct 26, 2004. A day in a life of a hopeless procrustinator. |  | amused |
| | So, my friend Tanya and I discussed productivity yesterday. And how it's ridiculously hard to be productive when your schedule is flexible. So true. I totally intended to wake up at 10 today: go to Walmart, go to Costco. call my car mechanic, make a dentist appointment, go to work (perhaps), and then relax at home. Oh, and take a shower. Instead, Im doing it all wrong. I'm relaxing at home first, after waking up at 11. So, my shedule, after resting and waking up late, is already moved up by 2 hours. By now, I have to cut out one thing of my "to do list." Perhaps I can skip work....wait, I can't do that. Maybe Walmart or Costco? Most likely, a shower. But that means I can't go to work dirty. Oh well, I guess Ill just spend an extra hour or two... | |
| | | Sat, Oct 23, 2004. Bored and nostalgic at work for the last hour. This came out somehow. |  | nostalgic |
| Ленинграду.
А по Некрасoвa давно прошли трамваи.
Ватага школьников и хмурый желтый лист,
Над куполами птиц крикливых стая
Летит на юг и редко смотрит вниз.
Мой город сумрачный по памяти сложила
Из кубиков, из чистых детских снов
Прости меня, что я не заслужила
Блага твоих невидимых оков.
Прости, что неуклюжа речь родная
Порой что улиц вспомнить не могу
Что редко океан перелетая
Я строю жизнь на чуждом... | |
| | | Wed, Oct 20, 2004. [Empty] | | | Yay. A blog just for me!!! | |
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