I got transferred at work a la small town political one-up-manship.
Now I work in a corporate beehive of cubicles where I spend my day
drawing bones and filling out other job applications.

Lately I've been working on putting together a book, which is probably
self-indulgent and narcissistic. But even if I only end up getting ten copies
printed, I'll be happy. I know otherwise I will eventually lose all these ink
drawings that somehow feel really relevant.



I recently bought some plants. They are pretty.

I don't send enough letters.