Mr. Fix-it

It’s easier to start new things than try to replace old things

My tub faucet sprung a leak the other day so I decided it was time to fix it.

I’m always trying to fix things in my life.

My car, my finances, my computer, my body, my love life – the list goes on. I decided just the other day to repair my relationship with my lower abs. We’ve kept in touch but I’ve just not seen them in six months.

Spent almost all of last summer trying to fix my hellish relationship with my ex.

As an aside, it would have been nice if she told me that it was not only broken but that she had already given speaking lines to three other drivers (whom I don’t think have seen any of their abs in decades, one word: flexbelt; of course, it’s not just about looks, to their credit they’re also dull as rock soup).

Sorry, just snarky because I’ve got a drip that’s driving me mad.

Point is, fixing is different than building. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to build. This spring I’m building things with old friends and new.

But for now, oh man, where’s that #@$@#$ wrench?

Location: @2:30PM yesterday, on Broadwayasd downing a burger
Mood: insanely busy
Music: Sunlight on my face I wake up and yeah, I’m alive

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Deviations

I’m always second-guessing myself

Just finished my exams. My brain is full. Don’t think I passed all of them but I’ll take what I can get.

It’s funny; I passed the bar on my first try, mainly because the law is fascinating to me – the law itself, that is. I find the practice of law not as interesting although it has its moments. These exams were not law related and dreadfully boring.

Dreadfully…boring…

On a different topic, I’d like to talk about THAT guy. You know him.

He’s the guy that gets up an hour-and-a-half before the exam ends, puts on his baseball cap and whistles on his way out.

Can’t stand that guy.

If you are that guy, please know that we despise you and wish you ill. I hope a truck drove past you on the way out and splashed your Gap khakis with mud.

Khakis.

Who wears khakis in the winter?

I’d like to point out that I’m the other guy. The guy that’s the last to leave the exam. The guy that makes the proctor go, “I said, ‘pencils down…sir.‘” (I’m old enough now that I’m scolded with the identifier “sir.”)

I leave last because I’m always changing my mind. I’m always second guessing myself.

I do it in life all the time. Why should being on the clock be any different?

UPDATE: 20070228 01:27
When I say “guy” I mean in the gender neutral manner. Such as: “I hate that guy (or girl) and hope that s/he never realizes how big his/her butt looks in those khakis.”

Location: @13:14, in Long Island figuring out standard deviations
Mood: exhausted
Music: get this feeling I’m in motion, a certain sense of liberty