11:24 a.m. // 07 March 2003

The other night my co-worker Sam backed into my car. You should have seen him, he was so mournful when he approached my desk, trying to break the news so gently. I was just like, "Oh, whatever." The paint is falling off one corner of my back bumper.

It's not good but in light of all the other damages to my paint, it's not a big deal. I already took a couple of chips off the bumper many years ago while washing my car with my dad's high-pressure water blaster thing. The paint on the front fender is chipped in thousands of tiny spots, and several huge spots, from when a trailer backed into me. There's a deep scratch running on the lower part all along the passenger side, from when I scraped up against a huge ceramic flower pot when my car was waterlogged.

It's just another sign that I really should start riding my bike to work. Or moving my car into a better parking space every night. Other signs: Josh B. at work got his old pickup broken into and his stereo stolen. Also, my flat tire in the lot due to a sharp broken piece of ceramic or something like it.

When I woke up this morning I tried to ask Dwayne what time his sister had to leave, but I was so groggy I ended up saying: "What time does Donna Sumu have to move?"

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