Work was so at a level of burn-out suckitude last Friday, writing at all this weekend seemed too much like fucking work to cope. I focused instead on the vitual and took a million and six photos and whatnot. Also framed a couple for the boy-o’s new, swank, executron type office.

I gotta admit though that one of the perqs of the workplace is the quasi-academic thang that gets rocked. There’s an occasional emeritus dude or two from the school next door using office space and generally writing.

One such character is doing a book on something I know a bit about, since good old Pat was a virtuoso — Guilt. Yup, something I am fucking, damn, spanking truly good at. We talked a bit about the cultural influence of people’s perception of guilt. The word from the professional psych dude, it ain’t so much the Catholic, it’s the Irish what makes me feel this way. Moralistic pricks from the Emerald Isle.

Talking about guilt and the possible Asian corollary, shame, which may or may not be a chauvinistic, ethnocentric concoction by Westerners not getting the whole bowing shit and honor and stuff, was looking to be the high point of the day.

Then the work day ended, M. came by and I experienced freedom. We wondered down to Mountain View and stumbled upon Frank Warren of PostSecret.com by happy accident, giving a talk at Books, Inc. Rock on independent bookstores and gurus of simple, brilliant websites for helping me to forget about work bullshit completely. Fucking completely.

Coolest thing about the PostSecret session was hearing about the art exhibit base. It’s definitely one of those simple ideas you just wish you had. And, boiled down to a few words on a single postcard is the essential truth thing, I’ve heard tell about. ‘specially in the comedic circles.

Now that I’ve forgotten work, with stress and fatigue, but guiltless and without shame, I’ll wake up again tomorrow for some new shit, I’m sure.