measi's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1000journals 1000 blank journals are traveling from hand to hand throughout the world. Those who find them will add their drawings and stories, and then pass the journal along in an ongoing collaborative artform. --from postcards explaining the 1000journals project. I had a sense last night that one of these journals might be arriving in the very near future, so I left work at 5:20 last night in hopes that I could get to my post office before 6:00 when it closes. At 5:45, I was getting to the Allston-Brighton/Cambridge toll booth. Gave me good time as long as I didn't get into... FUUUUUUUCK. THAT. Traffic. Right after the exit up to Copley Square. If I'd been one lane over to the right, I could have meandered through city traffic, but I figured that I could shave minutes off of my travel time by continuing on the Pike to downtown. Stupid me forgets the insanity that is the Big Dig, and the quagmire that is the Southeast Expressway during Rush Hour. I never have to deal with this... so it never comes to mind. *sigh* Well, no, it did come to mind. I didn't want to get off at Copley and drive through the city because I know what downtown traffic is like trying to get onto I-93. I forget for some stupid reason that I-90 connects up directly with I-93, and happens to do so right in the heart of the Big Dig insanity. So I get into crawling traffic. Which takes me EXACTLY 12 minutes to get through. Leaving me two minutes to maneuver around downtown to get to Chinatown to get to my post office on Essex Street. I got to the post office at 6:02. Locked. Dammit. So this morning, I planned on going in before work. Poor [erich] had the morning from hell, which had assistance by a headcold. So he ran 10 minutes late to my house this morning. Well, fuck it. I called in, let the people know that I was going to be late and wouldn't make the 10:30 meeting. So why the hell not? I already called in late; might as well go get my mail. After some maneuvering about stupid cabbies who think they own the road, but never seem to know how to drive properly, I get downtown, get to my post office, and there, in plain manilla wrapping, is Journal #777. Blank and ready to be scribbled in. I can't wait to start doing stuff in this. :) Tan is next in line for it on the official site. Hopefully I'll be done with my entry in time, although I have read how many people seem to hold onto it for a while. I'll try not to be too greedy with it! --Mel. 11:46 a.m. - 28 February 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||