tra la la. i cannot seem to do anything except waste waste waste that thing called time.

seems that moments ago it was 5 pm, and i, bleary-eyed, was emerging from a day full of meeting/greeting, listening to my mind pleading for mercy. board rooms turned to bored rooms and there i sat vacantly doodling ballpoint pen masterpieces in the margin of my notebook. highschool or professional life? sometimes, it's hard to tell.

anyhow, it was 5. and now a blink later, it's past 11 pm, and the hands of the clock are rubbing together with glee as they ready themselves to welcome the midnight. happy new day. and did i accomplish anything in the hours that came between? by my calculator (and by calculator i mean me, face scrunched up in thinking cap splendour) it's been almost seven hours.

and yet, nothing of import has happened. i overstayed my own welcome in the office. till around 7 pm, swishing things back and forth in my head, like a submerged see saw. made a to do list. decided i didn't want to do anything on it. said hello to a succession of portugese cleaners, all of whom know me, because, guess what - i live there kinda.

ducked out into the evening, and was smacked in the face by the unshakeable feeling that fall is here. ok, maybe it's not quite here, but it's waiting in the wings, leaf blowers in hand, ready to do it's show stopping number, all red, gold and cold.

met up with a friend for guinness and good conversation. and if that sounds like a bad advertisement from the seventies, well, it very well could be one. but cliches i'll sling and praises i'll sing for that lovely beer, and i shan't be ashamed. post- a few of those, we hopped in a cab. which is truly, truly outrageous, really - but splitting one does peer pressure you into such a lazy mode of transportation. shame, really - it's the perfect time to walk home, meandering through city streets, skipping lightly over gutters and listening to music as your heart flutters. (rhyming again, it must be a sign of poetic greatness to come).

and then home again, home again, jiggity jig, piggity pig on the dinner and a quick descent into internet wandering and procrastination extraordinaire. of course, there's something fairly idiotic about feeling guilt for shirking work when it's way past work's bedtime, but such is the life of a, what, a career woman? a working girl? no, no, that doesn't sound quite right.

and instead of the time wasted producing genius from these click-clacking fingers - all you get is a play-by-play of a dullsville day. oh how irksome. oh how amusing.

chagrin.

with a grin.