Fall, a week old.
Monday, Oct. 01, 2007 - 11:30

How's this for a schedule for the next month: 20 hours a week, Tuesday Wednesday Thursday, scheduled around my radio show. Help my boss with her personal stuff on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and maybe Saturdays. This leaves the following days to myself: Sundays, Mondays, Fridays, and some Saturdays.

Someone asked me what I was planning to do for a job, since we're not working full time this month. Me? Planning? Job? I have half a job this month, I'm not planning anything. My head is in the clouds, I said.

I always think things will work out and they always do. Plans don't always work out so what's the point? I applied for one job and all the other job postings I've seen are boring and terrible, why should I apply for any of them? Besides, I can't help it, I'm waiting for something.

I'm signing up for a course on nonprofit administration - if we're serious about starting this nonprofit - and I would like to be serious about it, I think we all would - then we should probably try to learn about what we're doing. There are courses on nonprofit administration, grantwriting, and other useful things. That starts next week.

My latest bad dream about the radio station: the computer and CD players were moved across the room from the mixing board. It was difficult. Songs would end and I didn't have anything picked out to play next. There was dead air between every song. I played a song of terrible noise crap followed by dead air. I put on a live Pearl Jam song and then, apparently, left the studio with half an hour left in my shift. I went to some class. Friend 1 found me and told me I was going to be fired for leaving early unless I went and told them I was not well. You're ill, she said. I couldn't remember what I'd been doing the last half hour and realized that yes, I had abandoned my show. Then I went back to the station to hang out with the DJ who comes in after me. The dream started out stressful but ended up fine.

I super like the DJ who comes in after me, totally. I also super like the guy I work with. The new neighbor is slightly dopey, it would appear, but things are fine, in general. If only a certain thorn in my side would work its way out.

I called the cops on the bitches across the alley yesterday, 4 in the morning, Sunday morning. It wasn't the bitches who were being loud, it was the bastards they always have at their parties. I've called the cops on them twice, both times at 4 a.m. on a Sunday.

My broken foot appears to be a season-ending injury; I'll volunteer to help out at the races I wanted to run this month.

Plan for the day: write, read, eat, entidy my house, make some phone calls. I have some Myrtle B. Jones stories to start.