Tonight I browsed through some old pictures in my phone. I like this one, but it makes feel guilty because I haven't talked to this guy in a while. I guess that's easy enough to remedy.

My car is fucked up. I do not look forward to tearing it apart tomorrow. Which is why I've been glomming rides off co-workers and friends for two weeks.

Motorcycle or expensive symbolic jewelry? The decision has been made...

Gas station food for dinner every night: I love taquitos and Icees.
Gas station food for dinner every night: My stomach hurts as if I have been bayonetted.

I am proud to work for a Canadian company. As soon as I learn French, I'm moving to Montreal.

Hello, blog. I would say that I've missed you, but we both know that that would be a lie. I've been so busy, but for some reason, I feel guilty about offering the details to you as a consolation prize.
I can tell you that West Virginia is pretty around this time of year, and you'd have to believe me.
I might mention that I now know a bit more about a certain airplane, and quite a lot more about inter-company politics, and you couldn't question me.
My eight-ball game is absolutely ripping. You can't deny it.
I am a year older. My car is broken. We are buying a garage. M- started a new job, and will soon be traveling to it in a brand-new car. My parents are divorced. My father is basically unemployed. My brother is building an airplane. One of my best friends is getting married soon. My ten-year high school reunion is being planned as we speak.
These are facts. But they won't console you in my absence. You want to know how I feel.
I am alternately elated and apprehensive.
But mostly, I feel fine.