under a heavy pile of manila folders containing reams of manuscripts with little colored post-it notes attached, aggressive cheerfulness, bad office coffee, general idiocy, cab fare and Chinese take-out receipts, and other assorted crap since at least January, a time which coincided with an office space move from atop the giant photocopier to a glass cage in the middle of the floor with a stick and a few lettuce leaves thrown in, and if I do anything besides suck on my water bottle, they rap on my cage with their pasty thin knuckles. I can take it, sure, I made a blow hole with strung together paper towel tubes, but, alas, I've been deprived of the Robot.
I've so much I'd like to say. I've I desire to speak of how all the unflushable urinals in Britain smelled of bacon, and how that relates to their clean and efficient subway system (upholstered seats!), how in London there are very few trashcans on the street and no litter, and how kind and well-dressed Londoners said "sorry" when I accidentally knocked into them.
I'd also like to speak of all the movies that have made me cry this year. Plenty I tells ya.
So, needless to say, I hate my job, but today (Happy Passover!) I've enough of a respite to ramble here.
But the good news is I'm about to complete a long project, which, if all goes as planned, I hope will be projected on your living room wall.
I'll endeavor to pass you other notes in the days and weeks ahead.