I am reduced to this.

A microwave burrito for my evening meal.

Today is Administrative Professional's Day, formerly Secretary's Day. Over the years my various bosses have given me various gifts on APDay, everything from potted plants to lunch at The Orangery. Today I got a...thing. I don't know what it is.

Someone from my temp company brought it and gave me one and also my boss's secretary. It's a miniature deck chair, I suppose, with "Randstad" printed cheaply on the cloth seat. It smells like the back of a closet. My boss's secretary plopped a toy bear in hers; I just set mine on the shelf next to my computer and looked at it for a while. The only toy I have that will fit in it, I fear, is The Count from Sesame Street. Perhaps I can fashion him a tiny drink too--a bloody mary, of course.

Still no news in the writing game, from any market, and of course that's good. Last night I dreamed a writer friend and I were going on a roadtrip in his car, which he was carefully packing with money from all over the world! Only it was stolen money, and the authorities showed up, and we had to run and hide for a while, and then he went back to packing while I wandered around and looked at stuff. After a while I thought, "If we don't leave soon, we'll never get out of here." That's the nub of it, really. I feel like I've revving my engine waiting for an editor to yell "GO!"--except no editors are yelling.

Well, I'm done with my (gag) yummy yummy pitiful excuse for a burrito! I haven't done any writing at all since this weekend, even my revisions (which I've started and which are going quite well, save that I've stopped working on them). At the moment, my entire focus is on figuring out how I could afford a souped-up blue convertible Mini Cooper with white racing stripes when I'm making $9 an hour and my Yaris is less than one year old. Perhaps I should change my focus just a leetle bit.