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Making matters more complicated, the spreadsheet program he was using was a cheap Excel knock-off called “Spread ’Em for Windows” and none of the controls were what he was used to. That morning, after spending an hour on a completely different but similarly confusing spreadsheet, he had learned to his dismay that Control-Z did not mean “undo” but rather “delete-all-then-save-and-close.”
but all he could hear was the slowing beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeep
beep-beeeeeeeeeep of the imaginary cardiac monitor hooked up to his soul.
Alan found her somewhat disconcerting to talk to, as the faraway look in her eyes, her frequent soft sighs and the disjointed stops and starts in her speech made her sound as if she were trying to carry on a conversation while someone was gently massaging her nipples.
“You’re not supposed to enjoy your job! Jobs require suffering, that’s why God named them after Job!”
Alan was a great friend and roommate but had the ambition of a sloth with a heroin problem.
Festival in August that needs a complete rewrite and if you screw with my subsidized writing time I swear to the baby Jesus I will cut a bitch.”
“To the meaning of life,” Alan toasted, “and other great works of fiction.”
Real life should come with achievement badges.” “It does,” Dakota pointed out. “They’re called paychecks.”
Take a breath, she told herself. Chill out. You’re a pale white blonde. You’re totally the lead in this movie. You’ll survive for the sequel. Unless you’re the slut. Be honest, you’re probably the slut.
Pete learned from watching his mother that a smile over pain wasn’t always a mask. Sometimes it was a shield.
