I usually listen to music while sitting at my computer at work. It helps me think. Today I was listeing to Jamiroquai’s Traveling Without Moving. I’m not sure exactly what kind of music it classifies as, but it’s cool to groove to while you’re typing. And my mind started drifting, of course…
So, I wrote this message to one of our contractors today at work. See if you can make any sense of it. I sure can’t.
Maybe this phenomenon is unique to places I have worked, but I’ve noticed a trend in marketing that leads me to believe that marketers are the flakiest people in the universe.
This may only hold ture as a stereotype, that is, there may be flakier individual people out there from other fields. But on the whole, marketers are extremely flaky.
Well, I’ve mostly recovered from my illness. It’s just a little achiness here and there. And waking up with a nose full of dried snot, which, strangely enough, always results in my drooling all over my pillow.
But enough of that grotesque business. I was ruminating last night after I changed out of my work clothes and into some sweat pants. It turns out that a tight pair of underwear can seriously impare a man’s ability to think straight, and mine were not only tight but twisted all up.
I followed him down the hallway and around the corner, treading quietly on the burgundy hotel carpet. He waved me up to a room service cart that a hotel guest had left parked in the hall. Lifting the lid on one of the entrees, he pulled out a half-eaten piece of beef and threw it toward me.
“Eat this, kid,” Master Gudha said. “It might be the last thing you eat for a few days.” I stuffed it in my mouth, my hunger and apprehension causing me to forget to chew. He hunched down on the other side of the cart and checked a piece of paper that was tucked in his shirt pocket.
I thought of a whole lot of things to write about over the weekend. My mom’s birthday was Sunday, and while we were sitting around eating cake she said that I should write more. I can’t remember what spawned it. Maybe I’ve had this site in the back of my mind everywhere I’ve gone for a while.
I think this sort of diary is therapeutic. I feel as if I’ve been less cranky than usual. And I’m a cranky, cranky person. Is it really a result of just writing these thoughts down? Maybe it would be even more therapeutic if I told all of those drivers on my way to work this morning what I thought of them. Nah.