La-di-da-la-di-day. The system is down, the system is down! I can't do my work!

I just cleaned off my whole desk and taped Basho's picture to my computer. Now I'm kicking my feet together in boredom. It's one thing to not do my work because I'm sneaking doing other things. It's a whole other ballgame to not do my work because I can't. That's boring. The other is not.

Humdrum hooha. I really got nothing to say. I also got nothing better to do. Hand to god.

I know. I'll tell you a simple story of a simple fellow. This guy Frances and I used to work with in the horrible office headed by the power mad purple cowboy, he was in the writing program too. He was in the poetry part just like me and I worked with him and had classes with him for the whole two years. I tell you the truth now: he wrote every goddamned poem for workshop at work an hour before he had to hand the dang thing in. It pissed me off to take those poems seriously. I wanted to shout to the class while they were seriously discussing Elvis shoveling mashed potatoes from his chest into his mouth or dancing goats or Jimmy Stewart. Faker. Fakery. That guy, I thought I was friends with him for a while and I even invited him to New York with me for spring break. Blythe knew he sucked the second she laid eyes on him. She was all, why did you bring that sucker here?

The end. I go home now. I'm sorry for this mess.