I walked into the office this morning, and this fell out of my head.

Four hours passed.
It was nearly seven.
"Who the Hell is Jimmy, anyway?"
A woman, unknown to date, entered the room. In the years it took her to pass from the door to theblackened window, a forest grew. Trees emerged from the carpet, but not from seedlings. Rather the tops appeared first. This is perhaps best achieved with some kind of CG.
She stepped into the lake without pausing, moving with a slow, deliberate grace until the water swelled around her white dress. The staircase she followed led down, and as she disappeared under the surface she began to sing. A song of longing, of beautiful and unrequited despair, in a language understood by no-one but the singer, yet common to the many tongues of the fish that moved behind her eyes and between her legs.
An engine roared, and sirens. Emergency vehicles screamed their egocentric best "Me me me, Look at me" and flashed blue lights into the faces of those who dared to look away.

I've been aware of the need to find something to take along to my first meeting with CBs writers group on Wednesday, but I don't think at the time I really had anything in mind.
Treasure often comes From Trash of course, and I'm glad I chased this idea as it blew down the street .

The first CD of the year was waiting for me. The demos from The National Parks and a handwritten note from Luke thanking me for my enthusiastic interest and kind email.
Haven't playe dit yet.

Too busy whittling about my business partner's totl inability to follow any kind of instructions. Not from me, not from clients and not from our staff. he really isn't a great team player.
On friday's 2007 Planning Meeting I need to present some defined 'procedures' that we need to follow in putting our booklets together. At the moment, there is a serious lack of management going on. We are driving from the front, and our customer focus is rather blurred.