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Once upon a time, there was a very handsome dude who would occasionally write stuff in his blog instead of working. When said dude changed jobs and found himself actually busy at work (!), he had to give up blogging. This dismayed the townspeople a great deal, but they mourned silently, not wanting to make the guy feel bad for having a grown-up job.

One day, he was at work and was all, “Hey, I have not checked my blog email in quite some time,” so he did that and saw a couple of old comments and thought that maybe the time was right to go ahead and slack some more (for old times’ sake) and write something.

Believe it or not, cats and kittens, that was a true story, which makes it all the more tragic. I feel bad about having not written anything so long, but I honestly haven’t had any ideas since I started the new job. I don’t know if The Man has sucked all the creative juices out of me, or if being tired all the time has just caused my brain to shut down the completely non-essential portions of itself, such as the blogging and anagram creation centers. It’s hard to say.

The new job is going well, though. It is incredibly nice for me to be working downtown. I can walk all kinds of places for lunch instead of driving a few miles down crappy roads to have Taco Bell since it is the least unappetizing option in the area. Do not underestimate how much one’s day can be brightened by looking forward to having something good for lunch.

Also, I get to use an elevator every day. I like to stay in shape, but I am not hoofing it up 20 flights of stairs first thing in the morning. No one wants to work with John Q. Sweatypits. Elevators are funny places. No one does anything but stares at the buttons or the LED indicator showing what floor they’re whizzing past or their own reflection in the door. No one talks, although once or twice an older dude has commented about the weather. It’s always 74 and sunny in the elevator.

I have initiated a conversation with a person one time in the elevator. It was at the end of the day and I was going home. The doors opened up and there was a tall woman leaning against one of walls. I assumed that we were going to be on our way to the first (street) or second (parking garage access) floor, but none of the buttons were lit. She was, for all intents and purposes, just kinda hanging out in there. I asked if she was not really going anywhere in particular as I pushed the button for my floor, and she said she had gotten in at the fourth floor, but must have “forgotten” to push the button, so she went up to 20. Okay, chickie.

She was also going to the parking garage, and being the gentleman that I am, I let her out of the elevator first. She had a pretty sweet parking spot, and as she stopped at her car, I wanted to let her know that if she just sat in there and waited for the car to end up at her destination, as she had in the elevator, she’d be in the parking garage for quite awhile. But I didn’t. Sometimes her car is there when I leave at the end of the day, sometimes it isn’t. I think she figured it out on her own.