Shirtless Flautas

I work in an office, in an old barracks structure, a World War II relic. The ticket office where I work is a place of extreme temperature. In the morning, it is cold. There is a space heater against one wall. In the afternoon it heats up. The walls are covered in green carpet and we use velcro to fasten flyers and posters to the walls.

I have a love/hate relationship with office life. On the one hand I like getting a paycheck, even if it is once a month. On the other, I'm not good with routine. And yet I crave it. Obviously I'm crazy.

Outside the window a group of young men without shirts just ran by. I hear it's called "jogging."

I have a craving for a Monte Cristo sandwich. But instead I'll probably go home in an hour and eat refrigerated flautas from Costco.

Results of meeting with my teacher: in one month I will have a one-act to showcase. (Sounds like a Price is Right term, showcase) with the possible hope and near imminent possibility of a staged reading at a real theatre downtown. Her office was incredible, exactly perfect. Off the street, conference room, light and airy office with a real door that closed and probably locked. It was wonderful. Left me with a definite opinion and that was positive.

My knee is healing well, thanks for asking.

But this morning I cut my finger on a cat food can. Cuz I hang with little old ladies. Dag yo.

I want to go to a fancy restaurant and order the herb crusted filet mignon and the garlic mashed potatoes. Maybe I'll have a popsicle for dessert. I hear you can make them out of wine?