|
|
|
|
|
|
|
October 25th, 2000
|
Mi Vida Loca
Tuesday. A little difficult to type right now as I replaced the pocket knife that I'd lost on my trip to Seattle on an impulse today when I passed a cutlery shop. A new knife, same model as the old one, only this one is sharp and I managed to take a big chunk out of the tip of my finger as I was standing with a group of people at work, talking and futzing around flicking the blade open and closed with my hand in my pocket. Doesn't hurt, but a lot of blood there for a while and all kinds of bandaids wrapped around the end of my finger as I'm typing. I don't think it needs stitches. I'm not sure where you'd put them. But the typing, is, you know, slow.
Wednesday. Rain today, the finger is better and the work load was such that the hours passed in a blur. I stopped at PCB after work and had a Guinness while I read the paper. Haven't done that in a while. A nice light headed feeling walking to the market and then to the car, making the short drive home and now here at the computer, livin mi vida loca. The excitement is practically blinding.
There is one thing about the Guinness, even the one Guinness. Makes me feel more like bed than writing.
|
The photograph was taken at the How Berkeley Can You Be? parade last month. The quotation is by Groucho Marx.
|
LAST ENTRY | JOURNAL MENU | NEXT ENTRY
|
|
BACK TO THE:
