Well it’s now Thursday. Haven’t heard from Rand. Is he mad at me? Or merely in the Whale’s Vagina? It’s fine by me. I am still using Bill’s Mac. Tonight it’s the G4, previous nights the past week have been in the Powerbook. Work was yet another slow day, but I kept myself busy. It has been hot and humid lately and though I’ve been dragging ass, getting into the office closer to 8:30 rather than 8:00, I am still the first person in the office. I guess the heat has everyone dragging ass.

Felicia is still ill, I guess she wasn’t fooling. She told me she was going to stay home, and then a few hours later decided on making it into the office. She didn’t look well or sound well either. I did my best to convince her to stay home. After an hour or two she went back home, instant messaging me about how she’s sweating sweating sweating all the time. She has air conditioning but it doesn’t seem to help. I was going to suggest going to an emergency room but she was waiting from a phone call from her father, a doctor. She mentioned to me a while ago about her father having gotten into some trouble in Brazil and having a finger cut off for his part in the trouble.

Whether or not that’s true, I have no idea. It would be interesting to find out, you know, shake that hand with a missing finger. They did it because he’s a surgeon, I believe that is what Felicia told me. Cruel people I suppose. Great plot device though. Her stories are quite unbelievable which makes them believable. The bigger the lie, the easier it is for people to believe. Much like the three million dollar girl I worked with once. I mean no one could possibly have as many problems as she had. God forbid you had an ailment or something happen to you when she was around because whatever happened to her was always a lot worse. She responded to one of the entries I wrote but I refused to post her comment. It was quite sad.

Juan was correct in pointing out what a loser she was. And he never even met her. I guess floating through life on a raft of falsehood works for some, at least it works for her. She considered this a Bridget Jones Diary type thing, which would be funny if it were true. But I’m not the one with the fluctuating weight problem, and the ripped esophagus from the bulimic strain she’s put on it. I’m sure her parents must be happy with the way her life has turned out. The hotmail chick, that bond girl 55.

Bill is at his folks, taking his Powerbook with him. I sit at his G4, window open, one eye on the keyboard, the other on the approaching storm. To ease Bill’s mind, I will close the window and pull down the shade when I am finished.

Once again I have bitten my nails, a bad habit I’d love to break. I am seriously considering joining Nail Biters Anonymous. You know, “Hi my name is .”
“What? We can’t hear you. Take your fingers out of your mouth!”