Yvi

Oh, man. I had a supremely strange dream last night in which House, trying to make Wilson jealous, started dating his ex-wife. As in, House and Julie were having picnics and picking out heart-shaped platters and he was acting completely civil. If I were Wilson, I think I would have thrown up.

I woke up wondering why in the world I'd thought that was a good idea for a fic, then was very proud of myself for not having actually done so.

And today, I unwittingly reenacted another commerical. While turning onto the highway on my way to work, I saw how slow the traffic was and promptly released an operatic "fuuuuuck!" And then, because it's what I normally do for breakfast, I popped in a piece of Orbit. Dirty mouth, indeed.

Ooh, and I'm going to move in with a few other girls one of my coworkers knows, so I can be closer to work for the summer and, hopefully, after a month or two, be able to get a townhouse with three high school friends and save on money. The rent for this house is dirt cheap, for this area, and it's apparently enormous. As in, I could have two bedrooms and my own bathroom. Utilities included. Sweet, I believe, is the word I'm looking for. So tomorrow, once I'm off, I'm going to swing by to check out the place, meet the wenches, and possibly set up a move-in date. Behold, I am being productive and making a living for myself and other cool things!

Networking event tomorrow morning with Filipino executives, then a meeting with a bank CEO in the afternoon. Who in the hell do I think I'm fooling? I can drop names and kick it like Cuddy if I want to, but is this really the sort of niche I'm after? Can I, like, stage manage a show for some sub-par community theatre now? Maybe drive back to Ohio and hang out with some hillbilly foster kids and talk about John Deere tractors? Make sure my former Friday girl isn't slicing herself up again? Stupid, insipid liminality...