cellini's Diaryland Diary

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Meatball Sub of My Dreams

We're dealing with the finer points of the stock sale today and its all turning into a stupid pain in the ass.

I haven't had a full night's sleep in a while. I keep waking up about an hour or more before dawn and then not being able to get back to sleep.

Today is Tuesday. The Tuesday of next week is my last day here. One week and I'm out. Christ, this is strange.

Cynthia has the brain power of a sack of rocks. I have lost all patience with her. Every time this woman talks I stare at the ceiling and mouth the words "shut up shut up shut up shut up." Everyone but her is aware of the fact that I am doing this.

I'm listening to blue beat ska and rocksteady today. Its that kind of a morning. I'd rather be fishing right now.
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Oh you stupid fucking obnoxious cunt. She just asked me to turn down my music at my desk because "its hard to have to hear." Its the fucking Ink Spots. There is nothing the slightest bit offensive about the Ink Spots. Listen, bitch: You still work for me for the next week. So shut the fuck up and listen to the Ink Spots.

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I just did a google image search for 'meatball sub' to get myself really psyched up for lunch. I think I have to go do an interview with a newspaper before I eat. I'm fucking starving right now.

There's this thing I want to do to my bathroom at home. I want to paint everything white. Every single everything in the room. Then I'd tape over the mirror and window and a very few other things to protect them, and take black paint and fling it around in busy spatters of black dots all over everything.

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Ok, I did the interview. That was an easy one. Also, free cup of coffee. Then I got the meatball sub of my dreams and ate it all up.

5:37 p.m. - 2010-08-24

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