Last night on the way home, the daily Dead Deer was in the middle of the highway. I had to swerve to miss it. Did its lifeless eyes light up and glare at me as my headlights reflected off them? I will not answer that. Then this morning I saw a still-living-but-probably-not-for-long deer bolt across the off-ramp, obviously freaking the shit way out. Luckily I will no longer be taking that highway after today, I'll be living somewhere else and sticking to the surface streets, which I think will be a little less fauna-glutted. So: out of sight, out of mind. USA 4-EVA!!!

Things are looking up at work because I've been put on two new projects where I'm the only copywriter. I think the problem with these earlier projects, aside from the fact that I had to work late and on weekends and got eaten chewed out, was there were like three or four writers working together, and that's always a recipe for cockpunching. Writers are bitter and smug and uptight and psychologically unsound and there's no one they hate more than another writer because a) they're probably better than you are, and b) they can recognize the dead look in your eyes for what it is.

Some of today's copy: "John Smith suffers groin injury in croquet debacle."

My penchant for huffing dry-erase markers and Sharpies (not shar-peis — those dark days are behind me) is already well-known here. Years ago, it used to be one of my office joke plug-ins, something to fill the dead air at a meeting or whatnot, like: Dudes, I am totally going to sniff this marker right now and pretend like I'm really into it. But now it's no longer pretend, it's just the downward spiral of sick, sad addiction.

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