The air conditioner is on and while outside I'm sure it must be 82 degrees, inside I think I might get frostbite. It's the way he set up the office after we moved in, and after everyone who saw the place let him know in one indirect way or other that the way he set up the office is terrible. He can't help himself. He has bad taste. He wants the air conditioner on all the time. Half of the office, the half with both windows (as opposed to my half, the one with no view of the outside world), gets hot from all of that afternoon sun.
It's so cold in here. I'm having trouble typing and my skin is purple- but that might just be the way these GODDAMN fluorescent lights reflect on anything living. They make alive things look dead. I heard they cause cancer.
He wants me to process his speeding tickets over the phone today. I'm drinking a coke zero. I'm being paid less than $8 an hour.
This is wednesday in the life of a guy who wants to write and direct movies in Hollywood.
It's so cold in here.
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