So anyhow, I started working June 1, 1998.  I've gotten better work clothes since then (no more Van Heusen for me!), made up with my dad, sorta, and restarted this journal. That's about the sum of my accomplishments.  My mom insists she'll come through with the money for a car by the end of this week, and I'm moving out of Ray's in a few more weeks.  So if I was writing this a month from now, I might have a lot more to cheer about.  Of course, I won't have scored, so there won't be that much to cheer about.  Heh.

Yeah, I don't like my job.  I'm pretty much the lowest of the low around here.  There's the partners, the associates, the paralegals, the support staff like the accountants, the secretaries, and the library.  Within the library, I'm at bottom. The library can't say "No" to anyone.  The attorneys know this and so consequently they give us the stupidest requests at whatever time in the day they want to.  At 5:25, if an attorney calls me and says, "Find me the address of a Bob's Big Boy in Newark!"  I gotta do it, even if there aren't any Bob's Big Boys in Newark.  Or anywhere else, for that matter (Are there still Bob's Big Boys?).

For all the pain Akiyo causes me, most of it very inadvertent, I still find her the best part of my job.  Whenever my phone rings and the little "3173" window starts flashing, I'm, hoping it's her on the other line. I can't believe she's quitting in a month or two, even though I've known this since February.  Time flies whether you're having fun or not.  Hopefully I'll get her job in Century City when she quits.  That'll alleviate a little bit of my pain of working in the downtown office.  "Oh, the pain!" 

After I left here on Sunday evening, I wasted no time in smoking up in my car.  I parked in a lot that charged $3.50 for the day.  I would have paid if it wasn't for the fact that I couldn't find an attendant.  So the whole time I was here on Sunday, I was worried that I'd get ticketed or towed or something.  When I arrived back at the car carrying two cups of ice water (for the bong), I still found no attendant, no ticket, nothing.  There wasn't anyone else around, either, so I happily got in my tokes and then drove to see Star Wars again.  It really sucked the second time around, high or not.  I fell asleep about an hour into it, and didn't wake up until the end of the big battle scene.  The good news is that I did miss over and hour of Jar Jar Binks.  'Course, I also missed Darth Maul kicking mucho ass.  And I wasted $7.50.  And I missed hanging out with Michelle and a few other old college friends -- I think. 

Yesterday I returned the car I'd been renting and left my copy of Trash in the car.  It's about a honey with jungle fever whose living with an alcoholic black dude in New York, and how she wants to leave him but she feels attached to the dude's son.  What's really good about the book is its analysis of love and relationships.  Granted, I know nothing about that shit, so I look at Trash as sort of a preparatory book, like the Princeton Review or something.  Y'know, to kinda get me ready for the whole thing. 

Of course, the "whole thing" might never materialize.  Whatever, at least I'm patronizing an Asian Am author -- gotta support the yellow man, or the yellow woman!  White man's keeping her down!

I finished up the last of my weed.  I would have gotten more, but my dealer was in Vegas when I called.  So maybe that's a good thing, to have a little break from it for a while.  My doc said that a little pot smoking every now and then wouldn't do me any harm.  I don't think "every now and then" means "every night and then all throughout the weekend."  And since I've bumming lately, I'm thinking maybe the weed is getting in the way of my Wellbutrin and Paxil.  Damnit, they need to make THC-friendly anti-depressants!  And my poor bongs are just sitting there in the garage, with no one to toke to.