magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

Part of the problem with trying to write every day is that there are days like today when it seems like nothing of note happened.

I could say that I wrote back to Stef, told her she was right, made another potentially empty promise to resolve the problem of my belongings. I could say that I left another message on George's voicemail, that I haven't spoken to him in months, and worry. I could say that I stood on my roof when I got home from work, smoked a cigarette even though I wasn't terribly upset, drank a beer, and took photos of the sunset with my cameraphone. I could say that I'm thinking about applying for a real architecture job, that I'm thinking about just not coming into work at PDG some day and when they eventually call to ask what's up, saying sorry, you didn't book me, I took another job, and when they ask when I'll be available, telling them never, it's a full-time staff position somewhere else. I could say that I watched last night's Six Feet Under and cried, that a soap-operatic TV show manipulated my emotions enough to make me cry. I could say that I'm worried that an entry-level architecture job wouldn't pay enough for me to stay on top of my bills. I could say that my apartment is reaching the point of being messier than anywhere else that I've lived, and that although I'm disgusted by this, I can't seem to muster the motivation to clean it. I could say that I miss you, whoever you are reading this, that I miss you.