When I'd left the house, there were lights on next door, so I was thinking that Jake might be on her way to work. I took the keys to their house with me on my walk, thinking I might want to slip in and say howdy to Sara when I got back if Jake's truck was gone. Then I remembered that Jake was thinking about skipping work today.

Oh well, that's fine. I knew it was the wrong day (if you know what I mean) to be doing anything seriously sexy with Sara anyway. I rounded the corner for home, and Jake's truck was gone.

When I go for a morning walk, I leave my house keys on their back porch so I don't have a big lump in my britches. I went into their back yard to retrieve my keys. The bedroom light was on. I walked up, peeked in, and there was Sara, reading. I tapped on the pane and got permission to come in.

Jake had indeed gone to work, so Sara and I had a sort of non-gropey, I-know-your-tits-are-sore-so-I'm-not-touching-them, morning version of a tuck-in. We talked and kissed, and she snuggled up in my arms until she started drifting off. I tucked her in, turned out the light, locked the door behind me and went back to my own house all warm and gooey and virtuous.

I got all my morning chores done, lunch packed, remembered to pay the mortgage, remembered to comb my hair, kissed Deb goodbye, her all snuggled in blankets, and was almost out the door on time.

I should have know that things were going to go downhill when the Reverend Bell, sitting behind me on the train, spent the whole trip talking up the lady next to him and asking her if she'd accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as her savior. I hate it when stupid-ass preachers are sitting near me, blathering on, and distracting me so much I can't read. His name, which I overheard, just as I could clearly hear every damn smarmy (I thought he was hitting on her until he got to the Jesus part. He still could've been.) word out of his mouth, is familiar. I think he may be tied to some city scandal. I don't know.

Then I got to work and started earnest editing on one of the last articles to ship for this issue. It suck-diddly-ucked. Raised more questions than it answered. Was just an uninformed, undigested regurgitation of press releases so old that if it was food you'd throw away the Tupperware rather than have to find out what it smelled like. I've spent all morning on it, finding out bit-by-bit that all the information is unsuitable for our purposes, and now it looks like we'll have to scrap the whole thing. Dammit.

This article was the product of one of our new employees, who is not the most technologically savvy person I've ever met. In fact, she's ... she's ... grumble ... she's just too young and skinny to know anything! Grumble.

Yes, I was supposed to be helping her with this project. I would ask her questions about how she was doing on the information gathering, she would give me updates, I would give her advice on how to get more information and how to put it together. She would ignore me. And not ask me questions.

And she hasn't been questioning the information that she's been getting. PR people will send you any old shit. You can't take it at face value! Errrg.

I hope the afernoon is better. I'll probably be spending tonight at home alone. Deb will be at work. Sara and Jake will have an evening together for once.

Maybe I'll wash the dog.

Maybe I'll finish watching the Prague Cops porn vid and write an in-depth review for you.

Hey to Jen, who signed my guestbook but didn't leave a way for me to contact her, or a diary URL so I could pry into her life. I'm glad you got so into it. Welcome to the Legion. Please pick up your uniforms and proceed to the barber.

�Badsnake

Last night I dreamed I had a blind date. I met her at a big house full of lesbian writers. My date's current girlfriend was there, too, because her plans for the evening had fallen through. I spent the rest of the dream trying to get some "alone time" with my date.

In a completely separate dream, the pope kissed my hand. Twice. I don't remember anything else about that one.