Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here:

Otherwise, hello, and welcome.
Mail Trillian here<

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Trillian McMillian
Trillian McMillian
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Women, The Internet and You: Tips for Men Who Use Online Dating Sites
Part I, Your Profile and Email

Part II, Selecting a Potential Date

Part III, Your First Date!

Part IV, After the First Date. Now What?

"50 First Dates"

Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.

Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Find Federal Officials
Enter ZIP Code:

or Search by State

Find State Officials
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or Search by State

Contact The Media
Enter ZIP Code:

or Search by State

Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)



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11/17/13 12/1/13 - 12/8/13 12/15/13 - 12/22/13 12/29/13 - 1/5/14 6/29/14 - 7/6/14 9/14/14 - 9/21/14 9/21/14 - 9/28/14 10/12/14 - 10/19/14 11/23/14 - 11/30/14 12/7/14 - 12/14/14 12/28/14 - 1/4/15 1/25/15 - 2/1/15 2/8/15 - 2/15/15 2/22/15 - 3/1/15 3/8/15 - 3/15/15 3/15/15 - 3/22/15 3/22/15 - 3/29/15 4/12/15 - 4/19/15 4/19/15 - 4/26/15 5/3/15 - 5/10/15 5/17/15 - 5/24/15 5/24/15 - 5/31/15 6/14/15 - 6/21/15 6/28/15 - 7/5/15 7/5/15 - 7/12/15 7/19/15 - 7/26/15 8/16/15 - 8/23/15 11/6/16 - 11/13/16

Highlights from the Archives. Some favorite Trillian moments.

Void, Of Course: Eliminating Expectations and Emotions for a Better Way of Life

200i: iPodyssey

Macs Are from Venus, Windows is from Mars Can a relationship survive across platform barriers?
Jerking Off

Get A Job

Office Church Ladies: A Fieldguide

'Cause I'm a Blonde

True? Honestly? I think not.

A Good Day AND Funyuns?

The Easter Boy

Relationship in the Dumpster

Wedding Dress 4 Sale, Never Worn

Got Friends? Are You Sure? Take This Test

What About Class? Take This Test

A Long Time Ago, in a Galaxy Far Far Away, There Was a Really Bad Movie

May Your Alchemical Process be Complete. Rob Roy Recipe

Good Thing She's Not in a Good Mood Very Often (We Knew it Wouldn't Last)

What Do I Have to Do to Put You in this Car Today?

Of Mice and Me (Killer Cat Strikes in Local Woman's Apartment)

Trillian: The Musical (The Holiday Special)

LA Woman (I Love (Hate) LA)

It is my Cultureth
...and it would suit-eth me kindly to speak-eth in such mannered tongue


It's a Little Bit Me, It's a Little Bit You
Blogging a Legacy for Future Generations

Parents Visiting? Use Trillian's Mantra!

Ghosts of Christmas Past: Mod Hair Ken

Caught Blogging by Mom, Boss or Other

2003 Holiday Sho-Lo/Mullet Awards

Crullers, The Beer Store and Other Saintly Places

Come on Out of that Doghouse! It's a Sunshine Day!

"...I had no idea our CEO is actually Paula Abdul in disguise."

Lap Dance of the Cripple

Of Muppets and American Idols
"I said happier place, not crappier place!"

Finally Off Crutches, Trillian is Emancipated

Payless? Trillian? Shoe Confessions

Reality Wednesday: Extremely Local Pub

Reality Wednesday: Backstage Staging Zone (The Sweater Blog)

The Night Secret Agent Man Shot My Dad

To Dream the Impossible Dream: The Office Karaoke Party

Trillian Flies Economy Class (Prisoner, Cell Block H)

Trillian Visits the Village of the Damned, Takes Drugs, Becomes Delusional and Blogs Her Brains Out

Trillian's Parents are Powerless

Striptease for Spiders: A PETA Charity Event (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids)

What's Up with Trillian and the Richard Branson Worship?

"Screw the French and their politics, give me their cheese!"

Mail Trillian here

Trillian's Guide to the Galaxy gives 5 stars to these places in the Universe:
So much more than fun with fonts, this is a daily dose of visual poetry set against a backdrop of historical trivia. (C'mon, how can you not love a site that notes Wolfman Jack's birthday?!)


Alliance for the Great Lakes

Hot, so cool, so cool we're hot.

Ig Nobel Awards

And you think YOU have the worst bridesmaid dress?

Coolest Jewelry in the Universe here (trust Trillian, she knows)

Red Tango

If your boss is an idiot, click here.

Evil Cat Full of Loathing.

Wildlife Works

Detroit Cobras

The Beachwood Reporter is better than not all, but most sex.

Hey! Why not check out some great art and illustration while you're here? Please? It won't hurt and it's free.


Kii Arens

Tim Biskup

Jeff Soto


Get Fuzzy Now!
If you're not getting fuzzy, you should be. All hail Darby Conley. Yes, he's part of the Syndicate. But he's cool.

Who or what is HWNMNBS: (He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken) Trillian's ex-fiancé. "Issues? What issues?"

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

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Reading blogs at work? Click to escape to a suitable site!

Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right

Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains

Life(?) of Trillian

Tuesday, April 12, 2005  
Is this the start of another heartbreaker, or something better beginning?
I have declared this to be: A good day.

In my ongoing pledge to seek good and beauty in small things, I present to you proof that I can do it. I seek and can find joy in the very small things in life.

Several serendipitous events have already occurred. I know, the day's not over yet. Lots can and will happen. This is the Life(?) of Trillian, after all. We don't put the (?) there for nothing. Still. The Universe has sent me a bunch of little things, small favors, things which make me, well, not euphoric, or even happy, as in smiley whistley happy, but, well, better than normal.

Which is sad, ironically, because on these increasingly rare occasions when I feel better than normal, I realize just how bad my new normal is. But we're not talking about that today. Because I don't feel normal today. Well. I don't feel normal any day. I have no idea what it's like to feel normal. What a blissfully happy way to feel that must be. I envy normal feeling people. I remember when I realized my normal was abnormal. When I discovered I wasn't well, you know, like other people. Wait. That's another blog for another day. But for reference point, I'm talking about my normal. Which is abnormal. So when I don't feel like my normal (abnormal) self, I think I'm getting a taste of what it's like to feel normal (normal). It's a nice way to feel. Sort of, kind of, almost, like being in love. Okay. Well. Not really. But I don't know. Something different. Something better. Someone else. Someone good.

First: I overslept. Yes. You read that correctly. I overslept. Which means not only was I sleeping, but I was sleeping really hard and didn't wake up, fitfully, every 38 minutes. And I didn't finally just get up and start the day at my usual 4:30 AM. I woke up to the sound of Furry Creature meowing inquisitively, almost shyly. Within seconds there was a tentative paw poking at my face. Then purring in my ear. Another inquisitive meow. "Hey, fella, you feeling okay? What's up?" I said concerned he wasn't feeling well. Because the nocturnal creature who is my roommate doesn't usually meow like that in the night. Drop toys on my face, snuggle himself into weird and uncomfortable places on me, race back and forth across the bed in a flurry of kitten frenzy, attack the bed mice lurking under the covers (my feet), yes. But meow inquisitively, purr in my ear and paw at my face? No. He doesn't do that in the night. So I was worried. I assumed it was around 3 AM.

I looked at the clock. It was 6:15 AM.

Not only did I oversleep, I slept in! No wonder Furry Creature was confused! I had that instipanic thing, "Oh no! I overslept! Quick! Dash around like you're on hot coals! Take a shower! No! No time for that! You're not too smelly and you can put your hair up! Grab the first clothes you see who cares if they match! Just brush your teeth and get out of here!" That lasted about two minutes when I said, "Wait a minute. You didn't oversleep. It's 6:15 AM. You slept longer and later than you usually do, but in no way can this be considered oversleeping. You may have actually got five hours of uninterrupted sleep last night. That's almost healthy. Almost normal! Chill, girl, chill. Give the cat his breakfast and chill."

"Yeah. Yeah! You're right! Normal! Almost normal...normal" turning that word over thoughtfully, saying it as if I were an alien visiting the planet and learning a new word.

So I gave the cat his breakfast and chilled. And then marveled in my accomplishment of sleeping five whole hours. Without the aid of drugs or alcohol. "Wow." I thought. "Wow."

I trotted over to my window to take in my morning Zen moment of looking at the Lake. (I know, that's such a brag, it's even bragging and name dropping, but hey, I earned that swutting view. Blood, sweat and toil and far too long in a horrible apartment in a crappy neighborhood, three muggings, that stupid gross train every day, I swutting earned my sliver view of the Lake. I earned it, dammit, I earned it.) The sun is on it's Northward trek, so this week the sunrise is perfectly centered in my little sliver view of the Lake. Today is a cloudy, rainy day. Which should mean nothing in terms of the sunrise except that it's not visible. But no! Because today is not like other days! Today is special! Here's the amazing phenomenon I witnessed out my living room window this morning:

Rain on Window Sun on Horizon 1

Rain on Window Sun on Horizon 2

If I'd been awake at my usual 4:30 AM, I might have missed this. I would have already been working out or in the shower or online or walking to work. But today is obviously a special day. It was already becoming obvious today is special. I slept in and woke up just in time to see that. There was a 7 minute window of opportunity to catch a glimpse of that, before the sun disappeared into the low lying clouds. And I saw all seven minutes of it. (Which is why I didn't dash up to the roof deck and take better quality photos instead of shooting it through a rain soaked window.)

I was mindful that the morning routine would have to be somewhat reduced, so the workout session would have to be scrimped (hey. at least I try to do some sort of exercise in the morning) I pulled out a tape I haven't used in ages. It's got 15 minute "power" sessions. Perfect for a morning like this. Maximum workout in minimum time. (Check out Get Fuzzy, there's a great Satchel exercise moment today, another serendipitous joy) I'm not fond of this tape. It hurts me. They're not kidding with the words power and maximum. But I decided to give it another try. After all, I didn't throw it away when I moved, I must have some feelings for it. I selected a power abs session. (yes, possibly the worst and most painful session) I not only did the whole session, but I did most of it with Furry Creature on my chest and stomach. (See diagram A) (Yeah, we're real close.) I felt like Rocky. Furry Creature is not exactly a petite cat. He lost a few pounds when he was ill, but he's rapidly regaining them. (The vet assures me he is not overweight, he is just truly an enormous, fluffy cat well within his healthy and normal weight range. Which is alarmingly high for, you know, a domestic cat.)

Diagram A
Diagram A

When I finished the whole power ab session I did some of the power arms session, using Furry Creature as a free weight. (See Diagram B) He obliged for a few reps and then, well, he had other things to do and decided this was above and beyond the call of feline companion duty and well below feline dignity standards.

Diagram B
Diagram B

I also decided I really should be thinking about getting to work.

I took a shower. I took my time. It was a good shower. Showers are underrated. Good ones, anyway. This one was a good one. I felt exhilarated and very, well, clean and fresh and revived. (which probably has more to do with the five hours of uninterrupted sleep and vigorous workout than the shower)

I even decided to blow dry my hair. I have no idea what possessed me to do this. It's raining, it's damp and kind of humid. Blow drying my hair is counter intuitive considering the environmental forces of the day. It will get wet and curly the second I step outside. Nonetheless, blow I did. And for a brief moment, as I was putting the dryer away, I caught a glimpse of my freshly cleaned and dried hair in the mirror, and, just for second there, I didn't hate what I saw. For a very brief moment, before I stood up and saw the full me again, I didn't recoil in hatred, self loathing, anger and depression at the reflection. A first in years. I'm ugly, but I have swutting amazing hair. When I bother to "do" something with it it's almost advert quality hair. For a few moments there, as my reflection was only partly visible, the part mostly visible being my hair, I saw a view of me that's, you know, normal looking. If I could walk around half bent over with freshly cleaned and dried hair swirling over most of my face all the time I might actually not be considered ugly. Well. Except for the half bent over thing. Still. There might be a guy out there who would be okay with that. "Yeah, she's half bent over all the time, but once you get past that she's really very normal looking and she's got great hair. It's really quite alluring when she's in the bathroom getting ready for work."

That was my second serendipitous moment: I have very, very few moments when I don't hate the way I look. One second, just one small second of not hating my reflection is a swutting huge gift from the Universe. If you're not truly ugly or if you don't suffer from BDD, you don't understand. Just trust me. A few seconds of not hating yourself is bliss. It's a huge deal. (For the curious, there's a description here You will be hearing more about this in the coming years as images of genetic "perfection" become even more prevalent. It used to just be the Hollywood, advertising and fashion industries who fostered this image as lifestyle attitude. Then MTV. Then all regions of the internet. It's now seeped into prime time television. Well, I mean, it's been there since the dawn of television, but showing only the prettiest, fittest and most well dressed and coifed of the species as "normal" wasn't enough. Now completely overhauling someone's genetic "imperfections" is lauded and held up as a social service to allegedly DNA challenged humans. I'm telling you here and now, genetic engineering is coming folks. Line up to get your helix reconfigured now before the craze catches on and you are the last flawed and imperfect person on Earth.) So yeah. I could have called it a good day right then and there.


It got better.

My morning door person, whom I like more and more every day, said, "Whoa. I thought maybe you were out of town again. Running late but looking go- oo- ood! this morning! You got it goin' on! What's his name?!"

"No man. Just work. All this useless beauty...har har...I bothered fuss with my hair this morning. But thanks."

"If fussing with your hair is all it takes, I want you to fuss with MY hair. There's something else. Different makeup? New coat? Something different about you."

"I actually slept last night."

"Ha ha. That must be it! Sleep! Now go out there and show 'em how it's done."

"Okay boss. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it."

"Huh," thought I. After that brief moment of not hating my reflection, I stood up and saw the full horror once again, so you know, it wasn't as if there had been some magic transformation. Yet the door person noticed something different about me. Must be the sleep. Maybe the power abs. Looking down at less than Sports Illustrated ready abs and quickly dismissing that theory. "No. Must have been the sleep. Or traces of the euphoric glow of that incredible sunrise."

One really great thing about my new neighborhood is that I feel safe enough to wear my Podphones on low as I walk to work. I know this is foolish. I know I'm begging for it. But with the volume low and vision and attention on high alert so far I feel at least as okay as I did in the old 'hood without Podphones. Which isn't really saying much at all. Because I never felt even remotely safe there. But. For now I sometimes listen to music on low volume when I walk to work. (Attention all would be muggers/assailents: Touch me and I'll swutting kill you, I swear I will. I'm not normally a violent person. But. I've been through this three times and I'm mad as Hell about you and your kind so don't mess with me if you want to live.) I stepped outside. Sniffed the air. Looked around. Got a full sensory report. And deemed it a day safe for Pod use. Shuffle, of course. No playlist. Just random shuffle.

And the Universe saw fit to give me the most perfect mix of music for my walk to work. Planet of Sound. You know it's going to be a really, really good day when your Pod gives you your favorite song by your favorite band at the very first click. Some people might find the best air guitar song ever recorded a bit extreme for the first song of the work day.

But not me.

Yes, I agree, a dirge is really more in keeping with the emotion of going to a job you hate. But not today. Hey, you just sit there drinking your second Coughupalattébucks caffeine and sugar bomb and don't judge me. I say: Who needs caffeine and sugar when there are screaming guitars and The Pixies? In fact, I've been thinking about a Coughupalattébucks rehab plan which mainly consists of listening to certain songs as a way of overcoming the addiction plaguing the planet. I'll tell you about it later.

One song after the other of My Favorite Songs Ever. I even checked to see if I had unconsciously cheated and clicked My Favorite Songs Ever playlist. Nope. Random shuffle. And let me tell you, if you've never experienced the joy that comes from Slim Whitman singing Una Paloma Blanca directly after Planet of Sound and just before segueing into Erotic City (the dirty, naughty, nasty extended version. yeah baby.), well, you do not know what true joy is. Try it sometime. Warning: This mix is for advanced music listeners. It is intended for open minded and mature audiences only. Hearing this mix of music may cause tension, irritability, and intestinal discomfort in some listeners.

Thinking surely this must be the end of my run of serendipity, because I was nearing the office, I began to mentally brace myself for the day ahead of me. I was getting in later than usual, meaning, there would already be several voice mails and tons of "urgent" emails waiting for me. Meaning the halls would be filled with the smell of coffee and alive with the sound of inane banter. Meaning I would be forced to make small talk and be all smiley happy about whatever the stupid morning conversation topic of the day was. Speaking of intestinal discomfort.

But what to my wondering eyes should appear? There, on a planter ledge, perfectly placed for someone like me to come by and see it, was one of the ultimate serendipitous and ironic found ready made artistic compositions ever. Sitting on that planter ledge, across from the twin towers of Marina City, which are commonly referred to as corncobs, because, well, they resemble corncobs, was an actual spent corncob. One of those corncob on a stick things those guys in the rolling pushcarts sell mainly on the West side. I don't think I've ever seen a spent corncob on a stick this far East and North. Its presence in this part of town is noteworthy all on its own. But in front of Marina City? This is artist manna from Heaven. So much so that people unaware of it's ready-made found composition status would naturally presume it was a tritely set up composition. I assure you, I found it this way. I have never partaken of one of those corncobs on a stick, and I did not touch or move the found spent object. In spite of how it looks, I did not have conscious premeditated artistic thoughts with that corncob.

I snapped a few shots. It was kind of busy there, there are a couple of hotels and some office buildings right there, so there was a lot of traffic. Cars, taxis, pedestrians, pigeons...I didn't have a really good chance (or proper camera) to do it the full justice it deserves, but I've got the memories. And a few photos.


The day really could have ended there. It was all good so far. Why ruin it by going into the office? I could turn back, go home, call in apathetic and be done with the day. You know, quit while I was ahead.

But I soldiered on. Duty called. And, you know, it had already been a very good serendipitous day, so maybe handling the office, the people, my job wouldn't be quite the usual treachery.

Almost there. Turn back or go through with it. What's it gonna be, work, or flee? Responsible or shirker?

Of course I went to work, silly. I am a) responsible and b) a sucker for punishment. I apparently like abuse. I'm not proud of that fact about myself, but it's obvious and true, so I accept and deal with it.

No. My office wasn't suddenly and strangely transformed into a busy hub of exciting work related activity punctuated by well intended jocularity. It was the same old dull routine with the same band of miscreants and misfits. (Myself included, for the record.)

Boob Job: Late.
Mini Me: The Temp: Late.
(needs a new nickname) boss: Present and accounted for with Twinkie and coffee in hand.

Right. Everything checks out here.

I dodged a potential conversation bullet with Smelly Coffee Woman. This could be considered a gift, too, because her coffee was especially smelly. "Ooooooh, I love that scarf! And look at your hair!" Fingering some strands of my hair, raising them and letting them fall and fluffing my itching to spring into action curls. For the record: I don't like being touched by anyone who is not: My mother, my father, a sexual partner, a very, very, very close friend, my cat or someone with a professional interest in my body and my express and prearranged verbal or written consent including doctors, hair stylists, masseurs and estheticians. Period. Do you see coworker on that list? No. You do not see coworker on that list because I do not want my coworkers touching me. I know I have issues. But lots of people do not like being touched. It doesn't make us vile, cold, callous people. Just the opposite. Most of us are very warm, open, expressive and physical people with acutely sensitive senses. Turbo senses, if you will. We reserve all that emotion and physicality for people with whom we share meaningful emotional bonds. Because of our extreme sensory attunement, we're very sensitive to, well, our senses. Smells, sounds, views, tastes, and touches barrage us more than normal people. A brief flicking of strands of hair might go almost unnoticed by some people. But to a person with turbo senses, that small touch triggers serious endorphins. You get the idea. Things happen. If it goes on too long, any seemingly slight sensory stimulation can turn into, well, speaking of Erotic City. And no, that doesn't mean I am harboring an attraction for Smelly Coffee woman or anyone else who randomly touches me. I'm just saying, I don't like to be touched by coworkers or other people with whom I do not share an emotional bond or professional need.

Just as I was trying really hard to squelch the flinch which is my natural reaction to being touched by a coworker without warning, TEETH walked by and said, "Trillian, I've been looking all over for you. We've got a copy problem. There's a complete rewrite for the Big Client project."

Normally this would bother me. "Looking for me all morning?" It was barely 9 AM. Technically I'm not even supposed to be there until 9 AM. I let that slide. Because he was getting me away from Smelly Coffee Woman and her groping hands in my hair. What bothered me was that I knew about the copy problem last week and have been waiting for TEETH to give me the revised copy but he didn't know I knew and now it's at the last minute and he's decided to grace me with the new copy. But today, I'm not letting it bother me. Today I see him as a serendipitously placed excuse to leave Smelly Coffee Woman wallowing in her own vapor trail.

When the morning kibitz sessions subsided in the break room, I ventured in for a bite of breakfast. Oh like you've never had breakfast at the vending machine. I didn't take time for my cereal at home. Sweet and salty mix with the M&Ms removed is a healthy breakfast. But today, when I ordered the sweet and salty mix from the vending machine, the coil thing just kept spiraling. A bunch of items came tumbling down. It was like winning on a slot machine. I won two packages of sweet and salty mix and a package of Funyuns!

I know! It is a good day!

Except what the swut are Funyuns?! Who cares?! I won them from the vending machine! Woo hoo!

Woman Triumphs Over Vending Machine. Film at 10.

It turns out Funyuns, my friends, are a perfect (albeit very salty and unhealthy) garnishment for soup. I know this because I brought soup, yes, that soup, for lunch. I read the Funyans package and quickly deemed them unhealthy and probably unfit for human consumption. But I won them, and by swut I was going to eat them. Even if it killed me. Which it probably one day will. The minute I ate them I could feel my heart straining under weight of the arterial clogging crap in them. My hips and bum grew a half inch. (My abs, however, still pumped up from that power session, seemed unfazed) I could feel my cells realigning and recomposing into carcinogen induced baby tumors. But you know, Funyuns are not as bad as I would have presumed something named Funyuns might be. As a soup garnish, they're better than not bad. They're pretty okay. In fact, if you want to experience a new taste sensation (and risk personal health) I would recommend Funyuns as a soup garnish.

So yeah, things went along, you know, okay. Apart from TEETH finally deciding to give me the copy changes, at the last minute, you know, okay. Not horrible. Could have been worse.

I took a circuitous route home. I try to walk different ways, zig zagging my way to and from work. Seeing different blocks, varying the routine. It was an okay walk. Nothing really special, nothing really bad or good. Just a basic city walk.

Until I saw this:
Clouds over Lake Michigan

I know. Pretty cool clouds. Which I never would have seen if I had randomly walked another way home.

Which I deemed a serendipitous and full circle end to a good day. A day which didn't suck as much as normal (abnormal).

And that is how you find pleasure in very little things. That is how single, lonely people manage when they don't have a partner's presence and understanding or a child's laugh or new experience in which to find joy and excitement.

1:39 PM

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