I am currently in the middle of what is shaping up to be my yearly new year's office re-organization. Last year's attempt, while a good start, didn't quite meet the projected goal. It is still frightfully congested in here. Adding a desk did not magically result in one open surface. The new space quickly became as cluttered as all the others. I could have told myself that last year. Did. The only problem was I wasn't listening. However, this year I tweaked the concept. Reduce surface space. Reduce opportunity for chaos. Here's how it works. Toss out two tables. Replace with one cheap, small computer desk. Add one bookshelf. Move shit around. This time it is going to be different.
Anyway, just thinking with my fingers. Talking to myself. Technorati puts this blog in
1,150,716th place. Dismal. That makes the language barrier a very tucked away corner of the digital multiverse, much like a tiny corner table in a noisy, overcrowded coffee house with steamy windows and an
anything can happen, don't know where this is going, crossroad of the world feeling.
I have to stop now. I'm meeting a guy in Reno in a couple of hours to discuss a tiny newsletter type thing I'm going to be working on now that I'm back, provided I don't lose my left hand. If I am reduced to a one-hand-hunt-n-peck, I would probably be a little choosier with my time at the keyboard. Swirling around the
event horizon would but probably, remain high on the list while public service work could drop a notch or two. I just jammed a seam ripper about a half inch into the fleshy part between my thumb and hand. Puncture wound. Deep. A full force flaying of the flesh that would be impossible to do intentionally. I have little interest in being a fall on my sword hero. I doused it with everything in the bathroom. It doesn't look like much now but it did some mighty throbbing in the beginning. Already, I'm thinking HOOK!
