Wild Wood Wanderer

Is hope a good or a bad thing?  Is having something to hope for just an escape for living in the present moment?  What’s the deal?

I’ve yet to post anything about this, for fear of jinxing it, but I applied for an awesome job a few days ago.  I haven’t been able to shut up about it to everyone here in Athens, so I’m trying to outsmart the jinx by blabbering about it everywhere.  I know…recipe for DISASTER!  But send good karma my way…

The job is updating GIS layers of the Grand Canyon for the National Park Service.  I’d be living in Flagstaff.  I didn’t know much about that area before I started doing research, but DAMN!  If I could design a place to live, I think it would be that place.  Parks everywhere - I’m envisioning weekend trips to Bryce, Zion, Glen Canyon, wherever!  And it’s not too far from beaches either - about a 7 hour drive to L.A. area, and 4 hours to Las Vegas (in case Celine needs me for back up).  Flagstaff has four solid seasons, and if it ever gets to cold in the winter, I can head two hours south to Phoenix.  There is skiing 12 miles away, trails running through the city, biking, canyoneering, everything.

I know, I know…”Well it all looks good ON PAPER” and there is a whole lot of space between reality and ideal.  Still, it would be such a great change and a great job opportunity.  I could get my clearance and start going up the chain of GIS positions, so eventually one day I’ll RULE THE WORLD!!  Okay, not sure if that’s actually one of the levels, but I can dream

My eyelids feel like ten pound bricks.  I’ve been up since 3:30 am after a less than pleasant dream made me bolt up in bed.  My mind wouldn’t listen to itself as I tried to coach it back into sleep.  I did finally manage to sleep for a half an hour before my alarm went off at 6:30 to meet a friend to go swimming.  That was actually a good way to start the morning.  Flash to later - I’m slumped over my laptop in Donkey, trying to find GIS data just to make some location maps.  AKA “hey dummy this is where Baltimore is located” maps.  Such a small part of my thesis, but so very required if you are a geography student.  Grrrrrr…

Elsie is getting spayed today.  I was worried, but she pulled through just fine!  I called to check on her, and the vet tech said she had just woken up, and when she said her name, Elsie opened her eyes and wagged her little tale, as if to say “Yeah yeah, I’m fine”.  Poor little pooch is going to be out of it tonight…

I think CSI wins the award for cheesiest lines in a tv show.  I’ve been watching the free episodes online (#52 on my list of ways to procrastinate).  Two of my favorites:

“Looks like he had a killer date.”

“The party was on the train, and murder was the last stop”

I can just imagine the interviews for potential writers…

“Okay.  The scene - horses racing around a track.  Next race, the jockeys all get in line and the gates open - they’re off.  Little Flipper starts off with a bang, and is 1/4 mile away from winning the race when he suddenly backs off.  No one knows what’s going on, but when Little Flipper crosses the finish line, his jockey is dead.  You are the first investigative officer to arrive at the scene.  You say:

a)  Too bad. 

b) So sad.

c) Looks like someone came in dead last.

(By the way, #53 - come up with potential plots for tv shows and #54 - send them to director.)

I had to take a break from editing my THIRD CHAPTER!! It’s too hard to concentrate when your favorite band starts to play…oh, Mr. Jones, I know where you’re coming from.

I’m in VA this week trying to get work done.  I’m having days full of power hours during spring break so I can get my last two chapters out of the way.  That’s the lofty goal anyway.  We’ll see how it works out.

Elsie’s pretty much ignoring me in favor of the other dogs.  It’s like I’m the embarassing mom who shows up to school in her bathrobe.  She keeps ducking under my hand and runs off with Maggie’s dog, Ollie. 

Elsie started doing this thing where she licks the side of my chairs.  I was working on my computer, when I heard this little lapping sound and looked down to see her licking the legs of the chair.  Well, apparently she’s progressed from licking to chewing.  It’s starting to look like I have a beaver living in my apartment.  So far I’ve kept her away from the rocking chair my parents gave me for graduation.  She prefers the Budlight of wood to the higher end stuff.