Hi. Forget what I said in the previous post. I'm never going to live my fantasy of being an anal, organized, neat freak. Mrs. Chickenshorts has come to that understanding (it's her fantasy too) so I guess I should as well. I'll just continue looking for pieces of my life under piles of it that are arranged, in no particular order, in and around my living and working spaces. This also means that I'll post when inspiration hits rather than relying on notes that I'll never take or that will just get lost anyway. Oh! that I were an accountant!
Oh well.
Something odd just occured. I am sitting in the edit bay right now and there's a floor-to-ceiling window that I am facing looking onto the tape machines. A tour just came through, as they often do, but this one just went past the window rather than coming in the room to see all of the "fancy" equipment. Some of them cupped their hands around their eyes and peered in at me and I had the feeling I was in the zoo. A few more did the same thing and I flashed back to an awful scene from my childhood when, at the Idaho State Fair, we paid money to look through a window at "Siamese Twins" who were watching "I Dream of Jeannie" on a televison set. (I could see the reflection of it in the full-length mirror on the back wall of the trailor they were in.) They were probably getting paid for it and didn't care, but I felt bad that I had actually paid to look at other human beings in that way. Come see the amazing and frightening Editor! A true freak of nature! Only two dollars. Please purchase your tickets at the ticket booth across the hall.
Is that how an exotic dancer feels?
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