andreya

I tried not to fall asleep as I sat there staring at the computer screen, wondering how I was going to last out the next four hours. Was everyone else in that office as bored as I was? Who knew?

I tried applying for a job to while away some time. Applied to the first posting I found. I wrote a long cover letter trying to explain to this person who I was and what I wanted, and then I faxed it off. I doubted that I would hear back, but I had to try. This job I was at was sucking the life out of me. I went in day in and day out and did little other than read trade papers and answer the telephone. It was driving me crazy. I felt like a zombie, numbly toiling for God knew what. And again, there was nothing to do.

I popped in a CD, goodbye country (hello nightclub) by Groove Armada, in hopes that it could help keep me awake. Noel, the guy in TV, had lent it to me to rip because I had commented on a track he was playing. I guess I will have to comment more often when I hear things I like coming from his computer.

As, I sat there doodling off, the boss walked by. I quickly minimized my iTunes screen, but I had a feeling he'd seen it. I felt guilty, so I opened up an IM screen to ask Kent in inventory if I could help him with anything. He took forever in replying. He always did. So I sat waiting wondering how I could look busy while the boss made his iced tea in the other room.

A magic messenger came in then and for two minutes I had something to do. I got to tell the guy to go to the other set of glass doors where Kent would meet him.

I decided to log onto my favorite killing time site, SG, and then- shit! My boss walked up! I minimized the window and acted like an idiot as he asked me about some office supplies we needed. Christ. I sat there and just stared at the screen for a while after he was gone. I looked around my desk, again, wondering if there was anything, anything at all that I could do. I stared at the om candle my best friend Alana gave me the last time we went to meditation club together. I stared at the Lubriderm sitting on my desk and thought about how I'd only bought it for use the last time I got a tattoo. When would I get another one? It seemed like maybe never. I stared at the Finlandia cup where I kept my writing utensils and I stared at the little paper mache fish on a stick that I had procured after I had dared try to eat a year old yogurt bar. (It had tasted like wax.) I stared at the scanner and thought about how it would be nice to come in on a weekend and scan in all my artwork.

At that moment the mail man walked in, and I was glad because for about three minutes I would have another thing to do: sort the mail. At that moment Garianne from film IMed me: "Is your birthday 3/26?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"The ol' memory still works," she said. "Cool."

"Why wouldn't it?" I asked. "Are you dropping acid?"

"Excessive drug use?" She replied.

We thought alike.

I went off to sort the mail. Junk mail, junk mail, bills, The Hollywood Reporter, junk mail, something for Noel from Geffen. The usual.

I sorted things accordingly and took advantage of my trip upstairs to print out some driving directions to Santa Barbara. I had to run upstairs any time I printed anything and that annoyed me. As, I climbed the stairs in noticed some soreness in my legs.

"Good," I thought, "my trip to the gym last night paid off."

I'd gotten home last night and been very tired, but thought I needed to stay up to stop myself from oversleeping like I had been. I had managed to get myself dressed in my gym clothes and out the door. That was the hardest part.

In Noel's office I heard Ruben, one of the co-founder's voice coming through iChat. I heard Arden, one of the co-directors, too, conferencing, and I wondered what they were talking about, and I wondered if I could ever get anywhere with this company. I didn't really think so. I thought I might as well try my luck elsewhere. So I wrote cover letters and waited.