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ast night I dreamed I was roaming around in some rarely-explored attic over at Jessika's childhood home. There was a whole world of rooms on the other side of a divide in the attic (between the two halves of the split town-house), if only I could struggle through a tiny little four by six inch hole. Somehow I made it through that tiny aperture to the other side, but then felt trapped since the only way out from there was down the stairs in the apartment of Jessika's strange old grandmother. Gradually the divide between attics became a divide between luxuriant gardens, and the tiny hole was just a cat door in a gate controlled by a mischievous but oddly helpful teenage lad. The sun is out again today. The job search continues. I found a little answering machine among my stuff and set it up to take call while I'm out. Setting the clock was kind of tricky because instead of a digital readout it had a female voice.
n an effort to put a human face behind my application, I rode my bicycle down to Cavalier Computer, which is part of a big new bookstore above a parking garage near the middle of the UVA grounds on Emmett Street. I walked in and looked around, but the place was totally different. The back room, the place where the messy business of tearing apart computers and putting them back together, had been converted to yet more floor space. It was nothing but brightly packaged software, glitzy new hardware, and well dressed hucksters of it all. They looked like Radio Shack personnel. One of these told me that the back room, the tech center, had been moved to across from the hospital into yet another parking garage. So I went there, and, after much searching, saw someone wheeling a monitor down the sidewalk. I knew I must be close. I'm overly nervous about meeting people for the first time for strictly business reasons. I don't feel like much of a businessman. I don't drink martinis, I can barely tie a tie, and the idea of having to "market myself" is anathema. I feel most comfortable dealing with people on a casual basis, where it would be appropriate to flee at any moment. Anyway, I met one of the guys, shook his hand, and made him take note of my name. He said he couldn't really interview me or anything until he'd received paperwork from the office of personnel.
atthew Hart, Angela and Morgan Anarchy came by today, perhaps to move more stuff out. I stayed in my room away from them. The sound of their laughter downstairs made me uneasy and angry. It was the sound of selfish carelessness, a sound I've come to loathe.
noticed that my ZIP drive is very slow and its operation is punctuated by long boring pauses when it's being written to in Windows 95, but for most other operations it works very smoothly. I took the ZIP drive to Cocke Hall again to download more UNIX crap. Both Spies and Webring were unreachable over the internet, so I found myself having trouble finding web pages. I only know a few non-Spies URLs, so I had to work with those to find journals to read. I'm bored and feel like picking on someone again. Suggestions are welcome as always. I'm also thinking about entering the C-ville Weekly's annual fiction contest. I'd like to write a story about a goth chick named Amanda who and ditches her goth boyfriend named Timmy for a mildly retarded guy who happens to love Baudelaire. It would be loosely based on a number of real stories I've related in here over the last year or so. |