The Secret Life of Rossi
Mar. 5th, 2003 11:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathpixieResponding to philf's meme about writing a boring day interestingly. Somehow, when I do that, I get horribly long-winded, so I'm using the LJ cuts to spare those who prefer to skim through their Friends Lists.
There are sounds which instil dread and fear in the listener the very moment they're heard. The screech of of a car out of control directly behind you. A voice whispering in your ear at the automatic teller machine: "I've got a knife." A doctor sayi ng in that solemn, serious tone: "I'm afraid it's bad news, Mr Smith." Or the barman making last call two minutes after you've gotten your first beer in.
Traditionally Adam and Will from Triple J's morning show don't register in these terms.
Howe ver, it's Wednesday, it's seven in the morning and someone was up late last night watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer. With first a curse, then a muffled "yay!" as the knowledge that I don't have to be at work until nine today sinks in, I roll ove r in my sofa bed and slap my hand blindly on my bedside desk until I connect with the snooze button on my colck radio. Blissful silence (broken only by the sounds of my neighbours coming to morning life) resumes.
Repeat twice more at nine minute int erval s.
Finally, there's no denying it: time's moving on and so should I. At least it's a roll and a short stagger to the bathroom - the best way to describe my one bedroom flat is "cozy". I can't believe I shared a similar sized space with someone back in our student days.
First order of the day - remove the bike shorts and the pair of trousers hanging over the shower curtain so I can actually get into the shower. With my usual impeccable timing, I washed them just as Melbourne celebrated the e nd of s ummer with several days of rain. Then, having showered, deordorised, perfumed and regained full eyesight with the help of my contact lenses, it's time to wander back into the bedroom to see about clothes. Because showing up for work naked is su ch a faux pas. You save that for peace demonstrations.
Finding clothes for work leads to a meditation on the function of uniforms. As today's a karate day, I am, in effect, going to be wearing three sets of clothes today - the brightly-coloured Lycra ensem bl e of the semi-serious cyclist (or at least a commuter who had a bike mechanic as a boyfriend); the corporate blah of the court clerk; and the white pyjama-like gi for karate. Each is distinct and separate from the other, with no crossing over: I ca n't ride my bike in my karate gear (pants leg and chain issues) any more than I could train in my work heels and skirt, or show up at the front counter of PERIN in my bike shorts (well, maybe on a casual Friday. But then the aircon would freeze me to deat h). If one was inclined to be philosophical (which, at seven fourty-ish in the morning, this one generally is not - these are thoughts that occur during the re-hashing of my day for this post), one could say each uniform reflects different asp ects of my p ersonality - the greenie cyclist, the responsible public servant, and the martial artist.
Or one could tell me to get on with it already.
There is breakfast - usually cereal, which I don't burn off in five minutes, unlike toast - there is b ad morn ing TV, and there are big black clouds looming on the western horizon. Time to book - loading up the bike with pannier and karate bag, I unlock it from the stair rail outside my front door, climb aboard, and I'm off.
Acoustic Motorb ike
This morn ing's run into work isn't quite so easy as the day before's. There's a slight head wind slowing me down, and for some reason my karate gear feels heavier than usual. Or maybe that's residual stiffness in my legs - Monday's training was hea vy on the kicks. Stil l, I open it out on the Royal Parade bike lane, passing a few slowpokes and making very good time until I get to the place where I have to change lanes to avoid being forced to make a left hand turn and wind up in Heidelberg or Collingwood. Then things ge t tricky, as someone obviously late for work comes roaring up alongside me just as I'm looking over my shoulder for a gap. The next car does the same, and I'm rapidly running out of space when miracle of miracles, there's a space and I si gnal and zip over, giving the driver who let me un my usual thumbs up of thanks. It always pays to be polite.
Cecil is complaining a bit by the time I get to work - the sudden dropping of gears means one of several things. One, I need to oil the chai n again. Two, I need to oil the chain and adjust the gears. Three, I need new gears. I make a mental note to check that as soon as possible (but not tonight, as I won't be home until late-ish), and zoom down behind the Children's Court to PERIN's back doo r and the s ervice l ift.
It's like a joke: "How many public servants and a bike can fit in a lift?" There's five of us in there, plus Cecil. Nice and friendly-like. And of course, they all want out before I do, so there's manoevering to be done. To be e xpected when you'r e on the top floor. After another door wrestle, I get myself and the bike inside, say hello to the SPOD people and park in my storeroom. And yes, SPOD does stand for something, but I'm buggered if I remember what. Something about busin ess plans and the like. But they lurk down the back part of the office and wave when I go past mornings and evenings.
"You're a public servant - I pay your wages!"
Apparently I hallucinated yesterday - I could have sworn I'd signed in and ou t for the day, but when I look at the previous day's entry, I don't exist. Rather than incur the Wrath of Steve (who takes the sign-in book very, very seriously), I hastily do the requisite time-travel and mark myself down for both days. There's quite a g roup opening mail - it seems the not-so-subtle hint at yesterday's meeting was taken to heart.
I stop off at my desk (after the usual greeting of people and answering the usual question from someone: "Do you ride in?" "No, I dre ss in Lycra becau se I want to be a superhero.") to collect shoes and towel, and to drop off extraneous bits, and to turn on my computer. Then it's off to do a Clark Kent and become my mild-mannered alter-ego.
Jo - one of a set of three at PERIN - tells m e a s I come back that VIMS is down again. Not great news, after yesterday's effort - an entire day wasted because there's not a lot we can do without the program. Apparently there's some kind of issue with the Department of Justice and external systems, l ik e VIMS and th e Vicroads licence registration program that we use to check licence and registration details. I'm half-way through checking my LJ friends list when it comes back up, so I go grab a pile of revocation applications from the appropriate pigeon hole.
You co uld fire a gun in the office today and not hit anyone. All the senior staff are at a course learning how to write reports and correspondance, leaving Ben, he of the getting of the job I applied for, in charge. Ekram and Allie are also away, so of course t he phones decide to ring today. Normally the call centre deals with our inquiries, but today people are being difficult. Still learning my way around the computer system, I take only a couple of calls, but answer them to my satisfaction, i f not the satisf action of the person on the other end.
It's one thing that I notice about working here. In Civil, I was able to get away from the computer a lot, dealing with counter inquiries, getting stuff out of the printer, answering phone calls. H ere, I'm pretty m uch lookin g at the screen all day, and I'm starting to notice it. Especially today, with it dull and rainy outside and the whole office seeming darker as a result. So my pile of applications to revoke various traffic and other fines seems bigger than Ev erest today.
My job at the moment entails this. Person gets a fine. Person, for whatever reason, either doesn't get the fine straight away, or doesn't think they should pay it. Eventually, they send in a statutory declaration with the reaso ns why they s houldn't ha ve to pay the fine, or asking us to waive the extra costs that have accrued due to non-payment. Most of these are nominations - someone lends their car to someone else, who gets done by a speed camera or the like and the fi ne is se nt to the r egistered ow ner of the car. Pretty basic stuff, except if they leave it too long. Then I have to refuse their application. Others are more complicated - medical reasons, unclear signs, stolen cars, misleading public transport workers who say it's okay to get a ticket at the other end of the train trip (it's not - Melbournians, do me a favour? Never travel without a ticket - I can't do squat to get you out of it). Sometimes there's interesting ones, sometimes there's fifty-odd fines to go through i ndividually, but today it's all very staid. Except for the rather garbled application of a lady a speeding fine who seems to think the police are deliberately targeting her because she used to be a prostitute and "saw something". Apparently she's avoiding any more spe eding fines "with God's help and through prayer" (I would have thought you just stop driving over the speed limit!), but we've ruined her life. I can't make out what exactly the reason for the application is, so I mark it with a "wh at the?" sendback code and toss it in the tray.
Twelve-thirty, and I'm starving. I have exactly $4.60 in my wallet, but while pay day is officially Thursday, the money comes through on Wednesday. So I decide to treat myself to my favourite sushi place fo r an ea rly lunch in a n effort to wake myself up and give my eyes a rest. The only problem is, when I go to the auto teller, the money hasn't been processed yet, and so it's just me and my $4.60. Enough for three hand rolls, I decide - I could wait until three f or the cut-price stuff, but by that stage I'll be chewing my own leg off. And I'm out anyway. So it's to Susaso (SUshi, SAke and SOup) I go. The food's good, the guy behind the counter knows me well enough to automatically give me wasabi, and there's bean bag chairs. My only gripes about the place are that it's downstairs and so I don't get any sun, and it closes are 2.15pm.
I've got my notebook with me, and having finally gotten my nominations for the CBFFAs in that morning, I realise I have a segm ent t o write. Of course, I don't know what category or who the nominees/winners are, but I can still write the first part and outline the rest. So, sushi devoured (and my head still tingling from the wasabi - Susaso wasabi has a kick like a small but high ly d ense elephant), I scribble in my notebook for the rest of my thirty minute lunchtime.
The afternoon just drags. My concentration is shot, and I find myself checking my email and getting online way too often. And it show s in my stats - we're e xpe cted to keep a log sheet of how many applications we've made decisions on, and my totals are down. Still, I can always do better tomorrow, and they're always telling us the stats are purely for budget justification. Jo is ploug hing through her pile, pa using every so of ten to throw a difficult scenario at me - my teaching charisma is obviously still working, even though I've been at the job a lot shorter time than she has and haven't a clue what to do with the hard ones. She says it helps to talk them t hrough, but I ju st wish her timing was better - she keeps turning around just when I'm obviously not working.
Four-thirty, finally, and most leave. I'm technically on until 4.45, but I do my tallies and put my stuff away for processing. The ol' grey mat ter just won't wo rk any more. I entertain myself with writing a long garbled email, and then go and get changed (the third time!) for the ride to training.
"Wax on, wax off"
Karate is at 6.30 tonight, and it's only 5 by the time I escape the clutch es of 436 Lonsdale St, so I decide caffiene is in order. Especially after another visit to the bank machine and making myself solvent again. Again I find myself missing the Trophy Hall venue - there was a coffee place across the way tha t would quite happily see me holed up for an hour or so. But with the building being reconstructed, we're exiled to the University High School gym on the other side of Royal Parade, and while there's a cafe next door, it isn't as nice. Still, it has coffe e, and muslei bars, which do much to fill the black hole that replaced my stomach today. And I finish my segment, at least to a point where I can just add names and quotes, and make a start on this epic. I also freeze myself to death in the rather brisk w ind - bare legs are no match for it.
In an effort to stop freezing solid, I head off to training. Just as well I go early - there's several new students wandering around in confused fashion, and I take them in tow. It's qu ite a turn out by the time we st art warm-ups; the demo during O Week obviously did some good. And there's some old faces, including Sean McMullen, sci-fi author, consumate geek, but entertaining regardless. Remind me to tell you the appliance story sometime.
Alex (the sensei) is f eeli ng active tonight - we start off with kicks again, and I can definitely feel the burn. Still, with all the newbies, it wouldn't do to show too much pain, especially with the black belt wrapped around my waist. Too bad Craig isn't here - we coul d h ave comisserated to gether. He was back for the first time in a year on Monday.
Hmm, him not being here today isn't that much of a surprise.
After some self-defence stuff involving people putting their hands on your chest and some nasty twisting ensu i ng, we split off int o groups. Alex drags me over to practice tensho with Mark, a green belt I can't place. My kata have suffered badly during my absence, and it's good to get the remedial session. It's going to be a while before I'm back up to scr atch. And the applic ations involved... well, let me just say that if I don't get some bruises out of tonight's work, I'll be very surprised. As it is my wrist is starting to stiffen up - better wrap this up.
Another change of clothes back into the bike gear later and I'm on my way home, at last. Cursing once again the lack of memory that means I'm still without lights - I keep forgetting to get batteries - but not having too much difficulty. There's a message from Mu m on the message bank, but when I try to ring it's busy, s o I decide to get back to her tomorrow after the 5 to 7 training, and then it's food time.
Food after the Wednesday 6.30-8.30 training, has two criteria: it must be fast, and it must be easy. Tonight it's four-cheese packet pasta, with spring onion added for extra oomph, and because the spring onions need using. The fridge is looking barer than feedback on OTL, partly because I haven't had excess money to fill it, but also because I'm going home this weekend and it's silly to fill it with food that won't be used. Same goes for the overflowing laundry basket - no sense going to the laundromat when I can take it home. Although hand washing the gi last week was a right pain.
Any way, to conclude - here I am, sitting at my dining room table, pecking away at the laptop (and hey, my efforts at making myself touch type are starting to pay off!), and thinking bed is probably a good idea. Especially since I seem to be losing my own interest here. So, off I go.
Good night. :)
***
I'm not sure how inte resting that was - I suspect I lost it there towards the middle - but at least you can appreciate how dull court work can be. :) Thanks for your time.ooo
philf's meme about writing a boring day interestingly. Somehow, when I do that, I get horribly long-winded, so I'm using the LJ cuts to spare those who prefer to skim through their Friends Lists.There are sounds which instil dread and fear in the listener the very moment they're heard. The screech of of a car out of control directly behind you. A voice whispering in your ear at the automatic teller machine: "I've got a knife." A doctor sayi ng in that solemn, serious tone: "I'm afraid it's bad news, Mr Smith." Or the barman making last call two minutes after you've gotten your first beer in.
Traditionally Adam and Will from Triple J's morning show don't register in these terms.
Howe ver, it's Wednesday, it's seven in the morning and someone was up late last night watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer. With first a curse, then a muffled "yay!" as the knowledge that I don't have to be at work until nine today sinks in, I roll ove r in my sofa bed and slap my hand blindly on my bedside desk until I connect with the snooze button on my colck radio. Blissful silence (broken only by the sounds of my neighbours coming to morning life) resumes.
Repeat twice more at nine minute int erval s.
Finally, there's no denying it: time's moving on and so should I. At least it's a roll and a short stagger to the bathroom - the best way to describe my one bedroom flat is "cozy". I can't believe I shared a similar sized space with someone back in our student days.
First order of the day - remove the bike shorts and the pair of trousers hanging over the shower curtain so I can actually get into the shower. With my usual impeccable timing, I washed them just as Melbourne celebrated the e nd of s ummer with several days of rain. Then, having showered, deordorised, perfumed and regained full eyesight with the help of my contact lenses, it's time to wander back into the bedroom to see about clothes. Because showing up for work naked is su ch a faux pas. You save that for peace demonstrations.
Finding clothes for work leads to a meditation on the function of uniforms. As today's a karate day, I am, in effect, going to be wearing three sets of clothes today - the brightly-coloured Lycra ensem bl e of the semi-serious cyclist (or at least a commuter who had a bike mechanic as a boyfriend); the corporate blah of the court clerk; and the white pyjama-like gi for karate. Each is distinct and separate from the other, with no crossing over: I ca n't ride my bike in my karate gear (pants leg and chain issues) any more than I could train in my work heels and skirt, or show up at the front counter of PERIN in my bike shorts (well, maybe on a casual Friday. But then the aircon would freeze me to deat h). If one was inclined to be philosophical (which, at seven fourty-ish in the morning, this one generally is not - these are thoughts that occur during the re-hashing of my day for this post), one could say each uniform reflects different asp ects of my p ersonality - the greenie cyclist, the responsible public servant, and the martial artist.
Or one could tell me to get on with it already.
There is breakfast - usually cereal, which I don't burn off in five minutes, unlike toast - there is b ad morn ing TV, and there are big black clouds looming on the western horizon. Time to book - loading up the bike with pannier and karate bag, I unlock it from the stair rail outside my front door, climb aboard, and I'm off.
Acoustic Motorb ike
This morn ing's run into work isn't quite so easy as the day before's. There's a slight head wind slowing me down, and for some reason my karate gear feels heavier than usual. Or maybe that's residual stiffness in my legs - Monday's training was hea vy on the kicks. Stil l, I open it out on the Royal Parade bike lane, passing a few slowpokes and making very good time until I get to the place where I have to change lanes to avoid being forced to make a left hand turn and wind up in Heidelberg or Collingwood. Then things ge t tricky, as someone obviously late for work comes roaring up alongside me just as I'm looking over my shoulder for a gap. The next car does the same, and I'm rapidly running out of space when miracle of miracles, there's a space and I si gnal and zip over, giving the driver who let me un my usual thumbs up of thanks. It always pays to be polite.
Cecil is complaining a bit by the time I get to work - the sudden dropping of gears means one of several things. One, I need to oil the chai n again. Two, I need to oil the chain and adjust the gears. Three, I need new gears. I make a mental note to check that as soon as possible (but not tonight, as I won't be home until late-ish), and zoom down behind the Children's Court to PERIN's back doo r and the s ervice l ift.
It's like a joke: "How many public servants and a bike can fit in a lift?" There's five of us in there, plus Cecil. Nice and friendly-like. And of course, they all want out before I do, so there's manoevering to be done. To be e xpected when you'r e on the top floor. After another door wrestle, I get myself and the bike inside, say hello to the SPOD people and park in my storeroom. And yes, SPOD does stand for something, but I'm buggered if I remember what. Something about busin ess plans and the like. But they lurk down the back part of the office and wave when I go past mornings and evenings.
"You're a public servant - I pay your wages!"
Apparently I hallucinated yesterday - I could have sworn I'd signed in and ou t for the day, but when I look at the previous day's entry, I don't exist. Rather than incur the Wrath of Steve (who takes the sign-in book very, very seriously), I hastily do the requisite time-travel and mark myself down for both days. There's quite a g roup opening mail - it seems the not-so-subtle hint at yesterday's meeting was taken to heart.
I stop off at my desk (after the usual greeting of people and answering the usual question from someone: "Do you ride in?" "No, I dre ss in Lycra becau se I want to be a superhero.") to collect shoes and towel, and to drop off extraneous bits, and to turn on my computer. Then it's off to do a Clark Kent and become my mild-mannered alter-ego.
Jo - one of a set of three at PERIN - tells m e a s I come back that VIMS is down again. Not great news, after yesterday's effort - an entire day wasted because there's not a lot we can do without the program. Apparently there's some kind of issue with the Department of Justice and external systems, l ik e VIMS and th e Vicroads licence registration program that we use to check licence and registration details. I'm half-way through checking my LJ friends list when it comes back up, so I go grab a pile of revocation applications from the appropriate pigeon hole.
You co uld fire a gun in the office today and not hit anyone. All the senior staff are at a course learning how to write reports and correspondance, leaving Ben, he of the getting of the job I applied for, in charge. Ekram and Allie are also away, so of course t he phones decide to ring today. Normally the call centre deals with our inquiries, but today people are being difficult. Still learning my way around the computer system, I take only a couple of calls, but answer them to my satisfaction, i f not the satisf action of the person on the other end.
It's one thing that I notice about working here. In Civil, I was able to get away from the computer a lot, dealing with counter inquiries, getting stuff out of the printer, answering phone calls. H ere, I'm pretty m uch lookin g at the screen all day, and I'm starting to notice it. Especially today, with it dull and rainy outside and the whole office seeming darker as a result. So my pile of applications to revoke various traffic and other fines seems bigger than Ev erest today.
My job at the moment entails this. Person gets a fine. Person, for whatever reason, either doesn't get the fine straight away, or doesn't think they should pay it. Eventually, they send in a statutory declaration with the reaso ns why they s houldn't ha ve to pay the fine, or asking us to waive the extra costs that have accrued due to non-payment. Most of these are nominations - someone lends their car to someone else, who gets done by a speed camera or the like and the fi ne is se nt to the r egistered ow ner of the car. Pretty basic stuff, except if they leave it too long. Then I have to refuse their application. Others are more complicated - medical reasons, unclear signs, stolen cars, misleading public transport workers who say it's okay to get a ticket at the other end of the train trip (it's not - Melbournians, do me a favour? Never travel without a ticket - I can't do squat to get you out of it). Sometimes there's interesting ones, sometimes there's fifty-odd fines to go through i ndividually, but today it's all very staid. Except for the rather garbled application of a lady a speeding fine who seems to think the police are deliberately targeting her because she used to be a prostitute and "saw something". Apparently she's avoiding any more spe eding fines "with God's help and through prayer" (I would have thought you just stop driving over the speed limit!), but we've ruined her life. I can't make out what exactly the reason for the application is, so I mark it with a "wh at the?" sendback code and toss it in the tray.
Twelve-thirty, and I'm starving. I have exactly $4.60 in my wallet, but while pay day is officially Thursday, the money comes through on Wednesday. So I decide to treat myself to my favourite sushi place fo r an ea rly lunch in a n effort to wake myself up and give my eyes a rest. The only problem is, when I go to the auto teller, the money hasn't been processed yet, and so it's just me and my $4.60. Enough for three hand rolls, I decide - I could wait until three f or the cut-price stuff, but by that stage I'll be chewing my own leg off. And I'm out anyway. So it's to Susaso (SUshi, SAke and SOup) I go. The food's good, the guy behind the counter knows me well enough to automatically give me wasabi, and there's bean bag chairs. My only gripes about the place are that it's downstairs and so I don't get any sun, and it closes are 2.15pm.
I've got my notebook with me, and having finally gotten my nominations for the CBFFAs in that morning, I realise I have a segm ent t o write. Of course, I don't know what category or who the nominees/winners are, but I can still write the first part and outline the rest. So, sushi devoured (and my head still tingling from the wasabi - Susaso wasabi has a kick like a small but high ly d ense elephant), I scribble in my notebook for the rest of my thirty minute lunchtime.
The afternoon just drags. My concentration is shot, and I find myself checking my email and getting online way too often. And it show s in my stats - we're e xpe cted to keep a log sheet of how many applications we've made decisions on, and my totals are down. Still, I can always do better tomorrow, and they're always telling us the stats are purely for budget justification. Jo is ploug hing through her pile, pa using every so of ten to throw a difficult scenario at me - my teaching charisma is obviously still working, even though I've been at the job a lot shorter time than she has and haven't a clue what to do with the hard ones. She says it helps to talk them t hrough, but I ju st wish her timing was better - she keeps turning around just when I'm obviously not working.
Four-thirty, finally, and most leave. I'm technically on until 4.45, but I do my tallies and put my stuff away for processing. The ol' grey mat ter just won't wo rk any more. I entertain myself with writing a long garbled email, and then go and get changed (the third time!) for the ride to training.
"Wax on, wax off"
Karate is at 6.30 tonight, and it's only 5 by the time I escape the clutch es of 436 Lonsdale St, so I decide caffiene is in order. Especially after another visit to the bank machine and making myself solvent again. Again I find myself missing the Trophy Hall venue - there was a coffee place across the way tha t would quite happily see me holed up for an hour or so. But with the building being reconstructed, we're exiled to the University High School gym on the other side of Royal Parade, and while there's a cafe next door, it isn't as nice. Still, it has coffe e, and muslei bars, which do much to fill the black hole that replaced my stomach today. And I finish my segment, at least to a point where I can just add names and quotes, and make a start on this epic. I also freeze myself to death in the rather brisk w ind - bare legs are no match for it.
In an effort to stop freezing solid, I head off to training. Just as well I go early - there's several new students wandering around in confused fashion, and I take them in tow. It's qu ite a turn out by the time we st art warm-ups; the demo during O Week obviously did some good. And there's some old faces, including Sean McMullen, sci-fi author, consumate geek, but entertaining regardless. Remind me to tell you the appliance story sometime.
Alex (the sensei) is f eeli ng active tonight - we start off with kicks again, and I can definitely feel the burn. Still, with all the newbies, it wouldn't do to show too much pain, especially with the black belt wrapped around my waist. Too bad Craig isn't here - we coul d h ave comisserated to gether. He was back for the first time in a year on Monday.
Hmm, him not being here today isn't that much of a surprise.
After some self-defence stuff involving people putting their hands on your chest and some nasty twisting ensu i ng, we split off int o groups. Alex drags me over to practice tensho with Mark, a green belt I can't place. My kata have suffered badly during my absence, and it's good to get the remedial session. It's going to be a while before I'm back up to scr atch. And the applic ations involved... well, let me just say that if I don't get some bruises out of tonight's work, I'll be very surprised. As it is my wrist is starting to stiffen up - better wrap this up.
Another change of clothes back into the bike gear later and I'm on my way home, at last. Cursing once again the lack of memory that means I'm still without lights - I keep forgetting to get batteries - but not having too much difficulty. There's a message from Mu m on the message bank, but when I try to ring it's busy, s o I decide to get back to her tomorrow after the 5 to 7 training, and then it's food time.
Food after the Wednesday 6.30-8.30 training, has two criteria: it must be fast, and it must be easy. Tonight it's four-cheese packet pasta, with spring onion added for extra oomph, and because the spring onions need using. The fridge is looking barer than feedback on OTL, partly because I haven't had excess money to fill it, but also because I'm going home this weekend and it's silly to fill it with food that won't be used. Same goes for the overflowing laundry basket - no sense going to the laundromat when I can take it home. Although hand washing the gi last week was a right pain.
Any way, to conclude - here I am, sitting at my dining room table, pecking away at the laptop (and hey, my efforts at making myself touch type are starting to pay off!), and thinking bed is probably a good idea. Especially since I seem to be losing my own interest here. So, off I go.
Good night. :)
***
I'm not sure how inte resting that was - I suspect I lost it there towards the middle - but at least you can appreciate how dull court work can be. :) Thanks for your time.ooo
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Date: 2003-03-05 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-05 08:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-12 05:01 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing... I only got to lunch cause there's a lot for me to do myself this morning ;)