What the Unworking Life Is Like

I wake from nightmares that involve a series of elevators that I need to take to the 200th floor in order to take care of a small girl who has been left alone for the night with her frighteningly macho sexpot father. Mayhem ensues. Elevators refuse to cooperate.

I move my car from one side of the street to the other.
I’ll need to do that again in a couple of hours.

I do one fact-check of one sidebar for one popular magazine.

I watch “The Surreal Life.”

I do battle over email with friends.

I contemplate again that my neighbor may, in fact, be a drug dealer.

I remember that last night I found out that my former employer has managed to purchase a contaminated office building for their new offices. Like, Toxic Waste Site-contaminated.

I laugh a lot, again.