You broke my will, oh what a thrill

Another post? Sure, why not. I don't have much to relate, however, so you're going to have to bear with me. I suppose you don't want to hear about my cool new running shoes, do you? Or the great deal I got on swordfish the other day at Market Basket? No, you'd rather hear about my daily struggles and the pain and despair that has finally, after years of my fighting it, devoured every last thing that was good in me. Well, let's see if I can accommodate you, leeches of the soul.

There's this girl at work who doesn't seem to like me and I can't figure out why. Why would anyone dislike me? Ok, there are multiple reasons, but she doesn't know about those; she barely knows me. She's the only one in the office who won't acknowledge me. Whenever I say hello, she doesn't respond. Early on, I thought I'd be closer to her than anyone else because on my second day I spent half of it going to various registries of deeds with her. Kind of like on the first episode of a new Real World season, when the producers pair up house mates and have them travel to their new digs together. They always seem to think that, because of their head start, they'll get along better with each other than they do with anyone else in the house. Doesn't seem to happen very much.

Anyway, I'm about sixty four percent sure Laurie doesn't like me and that's fine---I'm only thirty two percent interested in building a relationship with her---but I sure would like to know why. I know you're thinking that the obvious reason is because she has a pretty deep crush on me, like anyone would, male or female, who'd spent a day going to registries with me, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't. She's pregnant for one thing. And, you're going to think I'm bullshitting here, but I am dead serious--- the father of the child is Jim Rice's son. There's a pretty interesting story there, but I want to stay on point. Perhaps I should---and I'm not even sure I haven't---regale you with it in some later post, when I'm really fishing for ideas, but not now.

So, if it's not a deep crush, then what is it?Is she afraid of me, of my inner brilliance, of my pure heart? I think if I was as common as the rest of you, I'd be intimidated and yes, fearful, of me. I'm not too sure, though, if that's what it is. Maybe she overhead me telling anyone who would listen about the hand job she gave me in the car on the way to one of the registries. If that's the case, then she needs to lighten up.

I'm going to go listen to some Teitur, a songwriter from the Faros Islands, who sounds to me like a much less whiny Damien Rice. And he's a better songwriter. With each album he puts out, he becomes more and more eclectic. I love it. By the time he gets to his sixth one, I anticipate he'll sound like James Taylor doing Captain Beefheart by way of Rush. Stay tuned, bitches.