Well, I found my dream home in case any millionaires read my blog. Millionaires who want to buy me a house. I'll let you live in it with me. I had to sign a contract when I took my job that said I'm not allowed to talk about my job, which is too bad, because all the interesting things I want to tell you have to do with my job. I wonder if I'm allowed to talk about what happens in the elevators. First of all, there is a TV screen in every elevator. Today, a man in a navy striped suit, a brown checked shirt, and a navy polka-dotted tie, joked with his friend in a British accent. Most of the time I feel like a ghost. A ghost going slowly insane.
EDIT: That dream house no longer exists on craigslist, but you don't need to worry because you could buy me this. Peach, cherry, and apple trees!?