Four Hour Ride

It eventually stopped raining. But then it started again.

Hard.

Tjouchjy Keyjboard

jOK, so I don't know why this starjjted happening, but when I opened up my lappy on jjjTuesday at work down in Emeryville, it started jjgoing crazy with the js. So touchy, in fact that if jjI just rest my hands on the home row, per usual, it jjjstarts printing a bunch of js. For the purpose of this post, I've simply not editted them out.

My coworkjjjjjer suggests that it could just be that the keyboard needs a cleaning. I've started "hovering" my hands for the time being, until I can take a few minutes to dissasemble and jclean the keyboard.jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj (See what happens when I look away for a second to compose my thoughts?)

It's made jjcomposing coherent emails and jtyping commands for work, etc., a bit of a challenjge.

Aisle Seats

I typically prefer to sit in aisle seats on an airplane, because, ostensibly, they provide a way for me to stretch my legs (out into the aisle, with some caveats). Additionally, I don't have to inconvenience anyone else in order to get up and really stretch my legs, visit the toilet, etc.

So why is it that people who traverse the aisle feel that it's OK to abuse me? I've taken beverage carts in the knee, been brushed past by countless passengers, taken jackets or carryon bags or even asses in the face or shoulder. When I walk down the aisle, I make myself as narrow as possible. I walk sideways and make every effort not to touch or jostle people who are seated there. Why am I alone in doing this?!