Sunday, May 3, 2009
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
She Responds.
It's still day one and Tor has already responded to our heartfelt truths by trying to place the blame on us.
We'd just like to use this opportunity to remind Tor that she's, well, kinda a liar.
We'd just like to use this opportunity to remind Tor that she's, well, kinda a liar.
Day One: Bad News
We just heard, rather read Tor's "response" to our carefully laid plans.
At first I thought it was some cruel joke. I was sure we'd receive a follow-up e-mail with some funny cartoon animal with a "GOTCHA!" in it's dialogue bubble. But it's been several hours now, and nothing. Nothing, just like what we'll be doing for the next seven days. Seven days bound to this desolate rock, the clink of the climbing coaster haunting our thoughts.
I didn't want to believe it, but it didn't matter. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
Once we recovered from the initial numbing shock, we decided to return to it with ice cream, afraid to feel anything at all. We had woken up at midnight to return to work to finish our Sprite campaign. Oh, those were the days, full of ambition and spirit.
Now, darkness.
We rode bikes to the store. EB got Breyer's Oreo ice cream.
I got Ben and Jerry's S'mores ice cream.
When feeding ourselves failed, we fed each other.
But looking into EB's watering eyes and tortured expression just sank me into a deeper pit of depression.
This will be one of the few posts I write, as I won't have my computer starting Friday. My partner in sorrow, Mr. EB Davis, will take up the mantle when I'm gone.
But I won't truly be gone. Neither of us will. We're stuck here until Wednesday.
Fuck.
At first I thought it was some cruel joke. I was sure we'd receive a follow-up e-mail with some funny cartoon animal with a "GOTCHA!" in it's dialogue bubble. But it's been several hours now, and nothing. Nothing, just like what we'll be doing for the next seven days. Seven days bound to this desolate rock, the clink of the climbing coaster haunting our thoughts.
I didn't want to believe it, but it didn't matter. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
Once we recovered from the initial numbing shock, we decided to return to it with ice cream, afraid to feel anything at all. We had woken up at midnight to return to work to finish our Sprite campaign. Oh, those were the days, full of ambition and spirit.
Now, darkness.
We rode bikes to the store. EB got Breyer's Oreo ice cream.
I got Ben and Jerry's S'mores ice cream.
When feeding ourselves failed, we fed each other.
But looking into EB's watering eyes and tortured expression just sank me into a deeper pit of depression.
This will be one of the few posts I write, as I won't have my computer starting Friday. My partner in sorrow, Mr. EB Davis, will take up the mantle when I'm gone.
But I won't truly be gone. Neither of us will. We're stuck here until Wednesday.
Fuck.
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