When I sink into a deep meditation for a while, completely clear my head -- then a thought finally does bob to the surface, it's something from long ago.

We have to take turns sharing our screens and showing data we've pulled, and people chime in: add this, add that — it gets exhausting. It's a Borg kind of synch.

I have a new typewriter and I don't know if those keys should be so hard to press.

The stupid piece I ordered for my skateboard doesn't fit. I'm stupid to be stepping on a skateboard.

Even dumber: I was blasting music before walking into the work building— terrible, terrible metal of the most ghastly kind— and the big boss parked a few spots down.

I shouldn't talk about the person, I should talk about the conversation I anticipate.

This is mean, but when people start talking about their kids it's like there's a volume knob right there and I turn it down.

I'm so late getting my car inspected. They're gonna place me under arrest.