In my defense, my lack of updates is not due to wanting to ignore you, but rather that life has made it difficult to update lately. Case in point: Moveable Type. Hates my work computer, for some reason. Hates the new Mac operating system, I think, because it doesn’t matter if it’s Firefox or Safari, but it takes forever to be able to get this new little entry box to work. I actually have to publish a blank page first in order to get access to–

hey, WAKE UP! You asked, didn’t you?

You didn’t? Oh.

About a month ago or so our office was broken into and all of our Macs were stolen. At first I thought I was fired. So sure of it. Walked in, saw my desk with everything on it but the Mac and thought, “Okay, well, I’m totally fired.” And Chad decided it would be funny to allow me to think that was indeed the case for about thirty seconds until he saw how pale I’d gone. And then Dawn walked up behind me with a case of the trembles going, “Um, if there’s no computer on your desk, does this mean…?” One after another, each writer was so unbelievably relieved to find out that he or she had been robbed, not fired. And once we found out the writers of CSI:NY also got hit, we were relieved again. It wasn’t our fault. And Gary Sinise is now on it, so those thieves are screwed.

So there was a temporary Mac, which was doing okay, but yesterday they brought in my replacement permanent Mac (which again brings relief, as it sounds like I’m really not fired). But Replacement Permanent Mac (don’t get any ideas, thieves) has a wireless mouse and keyboard, which seems just too… I don’t know. Impermanent. I can just pick this mouse up and fling it out the window and there’s that. I feel like I’m going to lose it on this desk filled with things I don’t really need on my desk. Like this Japanese tape dispenser that tells me the Japanese translation for things like onions, spinach and toilet. The other problem with this wireless keyboard is that it is wee. It’s smaller in places I’m not used to (That is, in fact, what she said), so every time I put my hands on home row (stop it) I miss, and end up typing this:

U rgiygr U;s auf siqb BS QEURWE Kn cuwak,

That has become extremely frustrating.

And then there’s the fact that I can’t really write about work, which there’s a lot of. My friend Dana would probably let me write about her, but other than the fact that she thinks I should create a sitcom revolving around the concept that we are friends even though she’s fabulous and I’m quote-unquote me, I’m not sure what I could write that wouldn’t infringe on her personal life. There’s just a whole lot of professional and personal things that I am either not at liberty to discuss, or I just kinda don’t want to.

But: lately the universe has been trying to get me to believe in The Secret, which has become infinitely fascinating. People, words, places and unexpected income has arrived after I’ve done some serious thinking/wishing. I don’t want to sound crazy here, but um, I am trying to now be much more deliberate in my thoughts, because weird shit keeps happening.

And in the past few weeks I’ve seen or spoken with no less than four people I knew in high school. I think it might be more than that. One was the most random pass on the street near where I live. Okay, this doesn’t have anything to do with why I’m not writing as I did write about Ragan and–

crap. They’re calling me into the room. Work’s starting. See? It’s not that I’m ignoring you. I’m still not done making excuses. I’ve got a few more. I’ll have to do them later.

Miss you!

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