Pretending to write about printer security and listening to some of my favorite jams from junior high, high school, big kid college and junior college.

Guess it's easier to just call it Orange County Radio: hitting the greatest hits of your most embarrassing lows.

I met an old sorta-kinda-sometimes-totally friend for coffee on Sunday. She just quit her shitty retail job for a slightly less shitty desk job as a temp with a pharmaceutical reimbursement consulting company.

This friend, she's got style. Anger. Passion. She needs something from life, and looks at this job as something to keep a roof over her head while she tries to figure out a better way to satisfy that need. It's a strange way to live; sometimes I flirt with the notion that work is what you do when you're not out having a life, but it never seduces me completely. I'm not content to work just to live, but neither am I living for the work I'm doing. In a sense, it's a case of separation anxiety; my personal persona and the one I wear at work can't be kept apart, but neither can they coexist quietly.

Do you work to live, live to work or just...live?