I have to finish off this chess problem set.
We're having a work retreat next month and it culminates in dinner at Uberboss's place. He asked about diet restrictions. I'm saying that I require a bowl of M&Ms, but all the brown ones must be removed.
I don't care too much for money. Money can't buy me love.
Work: driving me nuts whenever anything actually drives anywhere.
I'm trying to figure out where to throw in snatches. I should wait a little while before doing so, if only because I'm so busy. Ha: I just came up with a plan.
I might order more shoes. I'm a friggin' Imelda Marcos here. Money spent on shoes is money not spent on tactical polos. But spending money on shoes gets me things like Chucks Taylors, Vibram FiveFingers, and weightlifting shoes. I think those make me look more cool than tactical polos. Or do they? Time will tell. Hell, I can always get those later. There'll be time enough for rocking when we're older.
MNS caught on to my plan to panzerblitz him should he move to Mattoon. Wiley little fellow. Then again, he is right: the only reason to move to rural Illinois is to intentionally invite somebody to roll in over the plains and crush you. Or to found a rural enclave to survive the zombie apocalypse. But you should only do that after the zombie apocalypse has rendered tank warfare improbable.
I really should start studying for exams in May. I have a lot of material to learn. Might as well study for two exams. I have nothing but time.
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