office - place.

My day revolves around the candy jar at the front, the tea machine in the break room, and the random pages hanging from my cublet walls. Currently I have a Christopher David Ryan heart w/small text inside it: Get in here.

But now the creepy sales guy, who zips by my sunny cublet no less than 12 times a day, is staring it like it's a pin up from playboy. Maybe said sales guy would like to "get in" my heart and I should take it down. If I were him I would think the "Get in here" was a secret signal, or maybe an affront, seducing him in a coy & censored way.

But not everybody is as creative as I am.

I think I'm going to start writing about life at the 101 Innovation.

It's rich with material and a wasteland of intellect. Paradox at it's best.

Have WONDERFUL weekends, I know I will :)

amy hempel (again).

On the last night of the marriage, my husband and I went to the ballet. We sat behind a blind man; his guide dog, in harness, lay beside him in the aisle of the theater. I could not keep my attention on the performance; instead, I watched the guide dog watch the performance. Throughout the evening, the dog's head moved, following the dancers across the stage. Every so often the dog would whimper slightly. "Because he can hear high notes we can't?" my husband said. "No," I said, "because he was disappointed in the choreography."