You know who to feel bad for? The forty-something, greying, balding, stern banker-or-something-stuffy that comes walking through the coffee shop at noon, nose in air, red tie and a gold tie-clip and a suit that fits like absolute shit. The guy is living a nightmare life. Cubicle, rat race, only ever got his B.A. in econ or accounting or something joyous like that and has been climbing the ladder forever wearing that shit in hopes of getting a slight raise or a promotion or blah, blah, blah, and yet he knows somewhere deep down inside that even if he pushes paper and plays the asshat until he’s seventy years old, he’s only ever going to make it as high as middle management.
All he’s got is his fscking pinstripe suit. And if that doesn’t even come close to fitting properly, if it makes him look like an absolute grandmother, he’s got nothing.
I’m going to re-code my local diary backend sometime in the next few days so that it submits to greymatter and that way I can keep my local diary and my Web diary in sync once again, rather than having to maintain two separate threads.
Faxed my transcript request forms. They’ll arrive sometime soon. I’m either going to forward them on to Utah or open a new Interfolio file at Chicago. Either way, I’ve got to organize it soon, because I need recs on file, so I need to ask for them, but of course in order to do that I need to know where they need to go.
Watch my dust, y’all.
Ah Gong, I will justify your faith in me.