magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

Yesterday afternoon I started feeling the first stirrings of a scratchy new cough in my chest. The beer last night probably didn't help matters, although I did manage to keep my firm one beer limit to two beers. By the time I got to bed my throat was gravelly and I knew that the cough would probably keep me from getting a good night's sleep. And I was right.

When my alarm went off at 745, I briefly tried to figure out how to send an 'I'll be late' email from my phone so that I could just go back to bed, but gave up and reset the alarm for an hour later. Somewhere in the interim Daniel called, and although I didn't answer I knew that the software that I had installed on the server last night must have been hogging avocado's resources.

So I got up, listened to his message, took a shower, fixed the problem, and called him back on my way out to get my shot of espresso.

Wrote more on the train. As far as I can tell, my novel so far is made up of thinly veiled autobiography, sloppy melodrama, hints at mythology, and stream of consciousness crap. All in the first half-dozen or so pages. I'm hoping that it evolves into something. I'm just going to keep writing, no backtracking this year, and assume that I'll probably have to throw out this first bit.

Ellen did send me an email this morning:

Would you send me your cell phone number? Just want to talk to you outside of the work setting.

Which is completely vague and non-committal, and in that way very much like what I would probably write. And makes perfect sense.

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As predicted, I had nothing much to work on today. Not that I was all that active in looking for stuff to do. It was nice to have a slow-paced day. I wouldn't want a whole lot of them though. For one it means I don't get paid a whole lot. And for two, I get bored and go nuts.

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A bunch of people from the office went up to Democracy Plaza after work as the election results started coming in. I ran into Eddie, and asked about my election night security clearance. 'Sorry,' he said, 'your pass expired.'

'But you had said that you had gotten me clearance for tonight.'

'I thought I had. But somehow you didn't end up on the list. You'll just have to be part of the unwashed masses. Are you upset?'

'Yeah. A little bit.' In reality I was a lot bit upset by it. Not that I would have had a pass that would have even gotten me anywhere particularly special. I couldn't have gone into the broadcast booths. I probably wouldn't have gotten into the VIP viewing party (although that is kind of what I was hoping for). Mostly it was just a status thing. I hung my expired pass around my neck, but it wasn't quite the same.

We wandered through the crowd. Found a bar for a couple of drinks. Headed back to the plaza.

I never ran into Claire. Ellen didn't call. And I haven't talked to Marisa since I told her she was very much the type of person I wish I was dating.

Found myself in another bar with Emmet and Eloise. ('Does she know that he's married?' Ellen asked me on Thursday night.) We got a round of free drinks because of Emmet's Red Sox cap, but the election was starting to look bad for Kerry.

And home, and a little bit more from Democracy Plaza on TV before bed, still with no clear cut answers about which of these clowns was going to be President come January.