Since my last post, Jimmy's Pub has taken over as my sole benefactor. I work there every night except Sunday, washing dishes and driving deliveries, and my bills are all paid, almost with ease, and mostly on time. Furthermore: Thursday nights are "Live Music" nights; the musician's name is Jerry, and when I asked if I might fiddle along with him one night he reluctantly agreed. After we'd played a few songs he had a change of heart and told me that any night he performs, he'd love for me to play with him. I smiled and said I would.

Everyone seems to like me at the Pub, with the occasional exception of Mike Hunt. Yes, my manager is Mike Hunt. That really is his name, I promise. My absent-mindedness annoys him sometimes; that, and the fact that I write and read books between dishwasher loads. Nevermind that I am the most efficient and productive dishwasher on staff, and nevermind that I do the waitresses' side-work for them and prep food items for the kitchen too. No. I'm there to work. If I lean against a shelf and scribble down a rough time-line for the Fall of Atlantis, after washing two shifts' worth of dishes (because the afternoon guy never showed up) in under two hours, by gum I should be making better use of my time scrubbing the clean floor in the corners underneath the wash machine to make it even more clean. Shit.

Mike Hunt isn't there every night, though, so my work is mostly quite pleasant. Once my mind gets sucked into the black hole of contemplation--usually pondering the first day of Creation, or Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity--the time passes quickly. This arrangement pleases me particularly in its capacity for multitasking: I perform a simple task with easy deadlines, leaving me about 20% of my time free to read a few pages of a book, or work out some problems on paper, and generally make steady daily progress in the creation of a fictional world based on Atlantis.

Soon I hope to build a website that will explain and showcase said project. When it's ready.