I drive a truck now. Not a big, 18-wheel monstrosity, but a smaller truck, more like a "van" really. The back is big enough to put my bedroom in, and more. You want to know what driving a truck is like? It's a manly job, of course, and I get to honk at girls on the street, or other cars I see, or just for the sheer joy of honking. But I NEVER honk at bicycles.

What really surprised me was how dirty this job is. Since all I deliver is air freight, all the boxes and skids are covered with a fine black dust that I can only assume is the particulate exhaust of jet engines. Within a day my shorts are streaked with black, either from wiping my hands on them or brushing against the freight. (all cargo, no matter what shape, is referred to as "freight"). It gets everywhere, and knowing that it does actually come from the exhaust of jet engines, it kind of scares me.

People ship strange things by air. Today I picked up eleven DVD players straight from China, and it has to be somewhere the next day. I mean, WHY? I picked up an Arthur the Aardvark costume from a Barnes and Nobles, and they're spending a few hundred dollars to ship it somewhere in the country, whereas just making a new costume would cost less. Oh well - I'm making money off of stupidity, so I shouldn't complain.

In other news, I've just watched the entire series of LEXX, and it was fairly rewarding. It definitely concluded after four seasons, and the characters clearly grow over the series, rather than simply being archetypes. It's a silly show, in a silly sci-fi universe that's more parody of scifi than actual science fiction, but it moves stories along fairly well. All in all, it's more about the characters than anything else. Some of eps in season 1 and 2 seem to struggle along with inconsistencies, but the characters really get fuller in seasons 3 and 4. Also, I appreciates how the series comes to a definite conclusion, while still having some open-endedness.

I haven't been writing or working on my writing. The first part of the summer was about survival, and now it's about getting used to my new job. Soon I'll be comfortable enough to return to the written word, but things are still in a state of flux - I have to feel secure in order to be disposed towards writing, and right now, with issues about the new neighbors and current roommate unresolved, life is too distracting.

I just want to come home to a clean house, that isn't too noisy or filled with obnoxious drunks, so I can cook dinner and get a few pages written. Is that too much to ask for?