I am one of those somewhat creative people who will, provided I can get away with it, write while I’m at work. Poetry, journal entries, beginnings of stories. You name it. I will also draw. No matter what I am doing here, whether it be cash receipts, NMDPS, Abstract, Plats, whatever, I day dream. I think. I get all these weird ideas, and notions in my head, that I know if I don’t put them down on paper, I will lose them forever. Doing the NMDPS Accident Reports inspires me, even. One time, a man in a little black Volvo 3.5 Sedan hit 3 cows one right after the other. The only damage to the car? A little hair in the grill. That inspired me to write the story that I so fondly entitled “Squish Moo.” My main character, Victor, is obsessive compulsive, and paranoid. He firmly believes in his heart of hearts that these were real cows.

"And these weren’t fake cows either. Oh no. They were real. These are the kind of cows that somebody plucked out of a field, and super-glued their feet to the asphalt of Victor’s driveway."

Perhaps some of my most creative moments come while I’m at work.

It goes so slowly. Work, that is. It’s boring. Lonely, almost. It’s very peculiar here. Some days it goes quickly, like yesterday, when I had almost nothing to do. But today, no. No. I am not that lucky. I have 2 and ½ hours left…and my mind is wandering, drifting, slowly to another land. Kerouac speaks slowly and rhythmically, reading his words of musical infatuation on the radio. As I sit here, my mind is wandering…much farther than it should. My mind is much too small to be wandering out on it’s own, but it is, nonetheless. Thoughts of dancing in the dining room of a French château to Louie Armstrong with the lunch dishes still strewn across the table untouched. The table. The table.