Wednesday, December 04, 2002
This is Cecil, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off. |5:06 PM|
I'm trapped at work.
In fact, if Vid caught me writing this entry in the brief period that the pulled printers are being loaded into a van to be returned to the warehouse, he'd cut out my spine. Saturday was an 8 hour workday, as was sunday. Then came monday. From 8am to 11:15pm (50 minutes for lunch) I was at work. Tuesday I got out a little early, 7. I don't know when I'll get out of here tonight.
On monday night, I was walking towards the door of my apartmet as a tarantual scuttled across my path. I was so tired that instead of a more normal reaction like chasing it down and killing it with a flamethrower, all I could do was think the word "Oh."
If I get home tonight with any energy left, I'm going to throw away my bed. It's still a big pain in the ass.
Shoot, I must go. Learn old sea-shanties kids, they come in handy. I still have no idea what a "scuppers" is what a "hose pipe" does.
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//That should close up the previous year.
///Say this is the swap from 2001 to 2002, that should close up the 2001 links.
///Problem is, we also need to close up the final month links too.
/// echo '