Matt's buyer didn't show up for those creepy steak knives tonight, so I ended up sleeping on the couch. There's something wrong in principal with being driven out of your room by a box you believe to be haunted, but I wasn't so interested in getting into a war of ideals with possessed cutlery.

When I checked this morning, the box was laying across my bed over my pillow. I think I made the right decision.

Gerald drove to work, and let me know on the way he had made arrangements to park a bit closer than the remote lot today. We drove towards the office, and too the right before that into the cemetery behind our building.

Apparently, Gerald had the idea awhile back that he was going to play a plot owner a small fee to park on their empty spot, and one Ernest DiGiacomo was all to happy to take him up on the offer. We got a spot right in front of the fence along our parking lot, right next to Mr. DiGiacomo's late wife.

They moved Angela to the cube next to mine. She said it was too loud where she sat and asked to be moved.

Angela is marrying this guy named Joey this summer, and she beats him mercilessly. She must have called him five times over the course of the day.

"No, Joey! Call her back and tell her we want the red ones. The RED ONES!"

"Don't wait for me in the parking lot Joey. I'll call you when I get there."

"Joey, you're not listening, Joey! Joey, are you playing Tetris? ... Well, I hear the music in the background!"

As much as I've disliked working with Angela thus far, being around her sort of makes me appreciate the times she's not around more. Poor Joey doesn't have that pleasure.

Today two people were driving through the cemetery as Gerald and I hopped the fence and got into his car. I think I could have gotten a nicer look from them if I had exposed myself.