What That Means
Well, the TMZ fast film I shot at the Haight Ashbury restaurant during JournalCon turned out less wonderful than I would have liked, but what the hell, such is life. I have other photographs, but they don't ring my bell so I've posted what I have on the JCon link to the left.
Not much happening at work other than work. The changes that we have been expecting are coming - they're doing things and moving people around without explanation in ways that will make sense when the hammer falls - but that's of less worry to me now. By the end of this month the operation will be scheduled and I'll be focusing on that. If they let me go between now and then, well, they let me go and I'll look at options once I'm back on my feet. The sore feet. The seeming less over time, but still sore feet. This journal is rapidly disintegrating into a discussion of body parts, disintegrating body parts. It started as the usual merry-go-round of self absorbed subjects (with the occasional "I want to buy a Jeep" beep), but it's stumbled now to body parts. Something to have written on the urn, I suppose.
The weather, at least, has turned cooler. There was a mist in the air when I returned home yesterday, although it was warm today at lunch. I tagged along with a group of friends at work to an all you can eat Chinese restaurant near the office and we split a bottle of inexpensive red wine over the broccoli beef. There was a time in my life when I didn't eat broccoli. There was never a time when I wouldn't drink wine. Have no idea what that means.