Yesterday I bought poker chips. They are sitting on the long center table in my office, still unopened. I bought a baby gift for a woman I've never met and picked out the perfect stuffed green bone for my neighbor's new stray, Sam. I scoured the Internet for the best shore excursion in Cabo and unveiled my pick for best Los Angeles steakhouse (although I'm not sure anyone will be interested in my opinion...I don't even eat steak).
I have concluded that the light headedness and head pressure I have been feeling could be low blood pressure or hypoglycemia, but most likely is computer eye strain from my endless hours of surfing.
If anyone needs to know the perfect beach bag for his/her body type, I can offer the perfect suggestion.
I have learned every word of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and watched Bonnie Tyler cover a dozen or more songs on youtube wearing a bad purple suit and dancing like a middle aged woman at Burning Man.
And then, just when I think I have mastered the art...it is over...and it ends even faster then it began. Suddenly, I am thrown back into the trenches. The trenches of finding the perfect bite that doesn't exist, creating the perfect scene without any footage, explaining to an archaic editor why we made this choice...or that choice...and then looking for something different...or rather "something better" (At least I think that is how he put it).
But our hiatus looms in the in the distance like a freeway exit getting closer with each mile. So, as the department becomes dark and the blinds in each office are closed, we are left alone to perfect our jobs or work on our scripts or prepare for next season. But instead, he plays with a deranged Alice in Wonderland while I eat Thin Mints and blog about 'The Art of Doing Nothing.'
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