Mundane Monday

I DIDN’T DO anything productive at work today. No urgent tasks, no nothing. I just spent the first half of the day teaching myself SQL queries but I never got my code to work. Whatever.

For lunch our team went to an Asian restaurant, the kind where the chefs cook the food right in front you. I had salmon and veggies. I also wanted to try their unagi but maybe some other time, hopefully this weekend when my parents come over to visit.

After lunch I started working on a mini research project. I asked a colleague for ideas on how to narrow down the topic, and she recommended that I focus on the math, M&V and stuff. “I have resources I could send you,” she said. She never sent shit.

By 2:30 visitors from the westside office started pouring in. The emails flying around say these people will be in town for the week. There’s a re-organization going on and there’s also a big meeting tomorrow with workshops and icebreaker games. I hate icebreakers. I wish this week was the week I got sick.

I left the office shortly before 5 and while waiting for the train, I remembered a dream that I had about trains.

In the dream I was in an underground station waiting for something — a train, I suppose — when Mary Oliver approached me to say, “It’s 3am, dear.” I looked at her for about two seconds then I went back to staring at the void at the end of the tunnel, waiting and waiting and waiting, until my dream simply transitioned into another completely unrelated scene.

The real-life train arrived though. I am now back in my room writing this post even though there’s really nothing interesting to write about. Do people ever run out of stories to tell? They do, don’t they?

Anyway, today was a slow day. I will now have ice cream for dinner.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.