Sunday, March 21, 2004


Coffee's gone cold, maybe the draft from the window had something to with it. Second day of spring with a temperature of minus six. Listening to Badly Drawn Boy after watching a Sunday newsmagazine: learned about the new conservative leader of Canada [who's trying awfully hard to be charismatic], a slaughterhouse extraordinaire in Alberta where 74 languages are spoken, the overindulgent spending habits of one Mrs. John Ralston Saul, and the dud late-night talk show scene in Canada. Now I must face a task that I do not relish: the embellishment of a "learning portfolio" in preparation for a bi-yearly employee evaluation, during which time, I have decided, I may just give my notice. Thoughts of loading up a backpack and making for the open road, indeed, the open skies, pervade my mind on this cold but sunny Sunday afternoon. In the meantime, I just want to write, but no inspiration comes in light of many circumstances that preclude the manifestation of words put in a meaningful order. Maybe I need a muse to melt this lexical frigidity.

Time to put some lies on paper so that I can smile proudly about my ambitions and accomplishments tomorrow.

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