Cramped quarters

I make a point not to write about work -- I neither want to get fired, nor do I think it would be particularly interesting reading. Because my job is words. I write, I read, I edit. I stare at words all day long, which makes it curious that I seek out more words constantly -- I blog, I send e-mail, I write letters (the old-fashioned kind. With, like, paper and stuff); I read books and blogs and magazines and even the occasional newspaper. I have all these words just circling around and around in my head. Most of them never see the light of day, but I'm running out of storage space here. Server shutdown seems imminent. Mixing metaphors -- a sure sign of the apocalypse. Get out while you can.