(diaryland) May 01, 2009 - 1:15 p.m.

This morning, I thought I had held up a one point seven million dollar building project. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. That kind of balls-up costs thousands of bucks per day. Shit. I keep reliving it. Jesus, man. In the end, it turned out that I had in fact written a crucial e-mail over a week ago but I'd forgotten that I'd done it, so once I pointed out the crucial e-mail to the guy who was supposed to have already read it and acted upon it then suddenly everything worked out. In a heartbeat, the world was righted, and I was vindicated. But before this epiphany, I received a bunch of e-mails from someone else with a SHITLOAD, or INTENSE BARRAGE of exclamation marks. And since I told her that I had in fact done the right thing and that I wasn't the worst, I haven't heard anything. What does that mean?

God, work is stressful. This kind of shit pops up just about every day at the moment.

This week, I read Valerie and her Week of Wonders. Then I read an essay about it. It turned out that the point of the novel was to have lots of things going on, but to not have anything really happen. Till then, I thought that was just why I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would. It was like a mind-blowing novel with all the blood squeezed out of it. But, if the essay says that's the point, then hats off, my friend.

Now I'm reading another novel involving whaling. I feel like I'm just about qualified to get out there and start harpooning the shit out of things despite having no real interest in the whole thing. I didn't know this new book was about whaling, though, but I knew Moby Dick was. I know everybody knows that Moby Dick is about whaling, but do you know how much of the novel is about actual, physical whaling? I'm here to tell you a LOT. It's got diagrams and everything. It's ninety-eight parts whaling, two parts epic quest.

I've written a lot here today. My index fingers are sore.