Cubicle Monkey

I am one. Seriously. Every time we run up against a deadline (namely, every month), I start living in the writer's room. Technically it's not a cubicle - I don't have one of those - but "writer's room monkey" doesn't have the same sort of ring to it.

It could be worse. At least I get to talk to people, which is something the real cubicle monkeys don't get to do. Whoever controls the thermostat is a sadist, though...turning on the air conditioning when it's cold and wet and rainy outside. Evil.

My birthday happened. That was kind of a thing. There was a family dinner at a delicious German restaurant in San Jose. Meat. Cheese-covered extravagances. Apple strudel. Oh, and liters of beer. That's right. Liters. Of beer. The food coma lasted for days. Okay, that's a lie. It lasted for about an hour and then I had to stuff myself full of birthday cake. But then that food coma lasted for days. Mmmm.

There's not much else going on. I've been so tightly scheduled these days that I haven't had more than five minutes to do anything but work, eat, sleep, and gym.* And you guys know how much I enjoy being lazy. What a shame.

I have other things to tell you guys, but they can wait until our next Skype session.

*It's a verb now.