Thursday, May 14, 2009

I kind of wish I was better at talking on the phone. By kind of, I mean a lot.

It probably shouldn't still take a half hour of pacing around my house, smoking a cigarette, cleaning, listening to psych up music, taking a shot, cleaning, and more pacing and, if it does, perhaps it would help to think of things to talk about because those awkward silences when I don't know what to say are kind of weird. I think that's actually the definition of awkward.

And I'm always pretty sure, when asked how my day was, answering with "Well, today I got a stuck on a freight elevator for while and was pretty sure my final thoughts on this earth were going to be 'Why did I allow this to happen? It wasn't so bad carrying thirty pound printers up three flights of stairs. Beats the hell out of being flattened like a pancake in a giant crashing elevator.'" And did I actually recommend that Big Black record to her? Well, yeah, because I had that other record on my mind. This has got to get easier someday, right?

said Tommy T. at 9:07 AM - #

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