Brightwaters, ho!

Whew. Well. Typing at a new desk with my forearms completely outstretched...relaxed on the smooth, light oak. Scully is still panting from her close call with the vacuum cleaner--this place is entirely carpeted...it's nice in a way, but shit, if I wore my shoes in the house, it'd be filthy constantly.

It's lookin' kinda spiffy in the new place...I love being home now, instead of itching to get out from under the blazing demented eye of Dr. Sauron. I bought some red wine last night and there's still a bottle and a half of that left (well, as far as evening drinking potential goes, call it a bottle, cuz I'm going to finish the "half" before much longer). I've just been hanging out reading and keeping my fingers crossed for a day job (and I've even gotten out and applied a bit, as well...finger-crossing will only get you so far with the job fairy) to save me from more restaraunt work. After awhile, the things that you say to people become so garbled and generic that you show up at a table and spew something to the tune of "How are you drinks tonight?" or "My name is Allison and I'll be your appetizer...can I interest you in one of our hot servers this evening?" until your entire conscious communication becomes one giant mad lib.

My neighbors, of course, are strange. Not unpleasantly so, but as strange to me as I must seem to them. People are strange. The expectations that come with being a single female never cease to amaze me. The desperation in Arkansas is as thick as the summer air.

Not that I really expected this entry to go anywhere, but at any rate, I'm back. Internet access, new computer desk, and hopefully, in about one hour, new job.

I'm still working on my final project, and so should probably get to work on that. That's how it always goes; we get in a hurry and lose our balance ever so slightly, and something fucking blindsides you. Like, for example, a state trooper who informs you (and your three trembling, plastered, beer-stinking friends in the backseat) that you were doing thirty over when you ran that invisible stop sign, and now he wants you to jump up and down on his flashlight. God, I'm glad we hadn't been getting high.