Inspiration… inspiration. I have none. But I’ll try. I’ve been staying with Elvis in Örebro for work. I feel like this place is more mine then his now. He’s been so busy getting together the book cafe he hasn’t been coming home till midnight. The idea that he’s avoiding me has crossed my mind, yes. But then I remember how amazing I am, and how people flock to be near me, and that Elvis is no exception.
I have again displayed my superior skills at digging and sifting threw steaming piles of data, dati. The results of my sleuthing are confidential, of-course, but sufficed to say I will have more work coming to me. “coming to me” that sounds so hostile. But it is really. Or well, it’s the kind of job someone should complain about… but it suits me so well. When I was little my mom had an old apple.. (that’s about all the technical info I can give) and the only thing for me to do on it was play with the paint program. Did I draw horses, or rainbows, or pictures of my family, no. I filled the page with black and then used the erased to make it white again. Seriously. And not in like fun patterns or anything.. but lines. It was great. Erasing every pixel of black.. slowly and tediously. That’s basically what my job is. Slowly and tediously making something perfect.
And for future reference, I can’t spell. So don’t even expect it. And I’ve noticed that my years and years of constant on-line chatting have made this … a really bad habit. For every sentence I write I feel the urge to work it in some where. Or just tag it on the end…