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2006-07-06 - 3:03 p.m.

Concrete: I have a very strong urge, once or more a day, that I can feel in the insides of my fingers, while walking down one of this office building's eight long, carpeted, nearly silent hallways, to run, as fast as these Pumas and jeans and tucked-in button-downs will carry me, and then jump as high as I can go and smack a ceiling tile with a flattened palm so that it thumps off its metal mooring and comes to a slightly skewed rest. And I won't even want anyone to know about it.

Abstract: I've had about four percent motivation to actually do my job the last two weeks. I haven't done very much of it, really. I wish I could say I've been doing other very important things for my personal well-being, but that'd be only partly true. I've been drinking and hanging out with fun people and laughing and listening to music, though. I just got my camera batteries in the mail and would also like to become in expert in something: such as the subject of people getting struck by lightning. I'd like to write about that particular kind of person. Some of these women I work with are making my job much harder to like because they are continuting to tattle on me for petty things. I've been rehearsing confrontation scenarios for when they come back from vacation. All scenarios involve lots of smiling and some very polite "Go fuck yourself"s. Not really, but man, that feels good just to think about it.

Concrete: I was thinking it was about time I settled on a rap name and I'm going with Streaming Down Low. I was thinking my signature sample could be the dial-up connection noise.

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