There is a cold, damp spot on my pantaloons where once rested a Biggie Size Frosty from Wendy's.

Actually, there isn't. Anymore. That's the first sentence from an entry I began to write last night. Unluckily for the stillborn entry, it was interrupted by a really good Simpsons episode, and I crawled in bed, watched and fell asleep. Luckily for us, if I was opening up with a line that was leaning heavily on semi-frozen condensation for laughs and an arachaic word I arbitrarily decided to use for jeans, the entry wasn't going to be much of a corker anyway.

So. I'll try again.

Good morning, one and all! Long time no see. How you been?

The misguided few paying attention know that I finished my last job about one month ago. Two weeks or so back, I was offered a job at the same company, working on a new show, starting in June. "Fantastic," I thought, and then I looked at my thinning bank account. "I simply have to stay alive til June somehow." Hibernation was considered a good option that would keep me from eating, but the downside is that it wouldn't generate any rent money. No, I would have to stay awake.

Recently, my old supervisor offered me a job with his new company. It would have been great, as I love my old sup', but his new company was just way too far away. It definitely would have taken me over an hour in rush hour to get there and back, as my home and his workplace are...well, if Los Angeles were a boxing ring, we would be in opposite corners. Opposite corners 40 miles apart.

I was tempted by the fat check (well, fat for me, anyway), but when I remembered my Production Assistant days and driving back and forth incredibly stupid California distances to get to and fro, it reminded that such a drive to the new job...there and back...daily...might make me want to kill myself. Often and repeatedly.

However, money has been tight, and my wallet couldn't afford to not make suicidal drives, so I called my old company, and talked to my old producer. He told me he knew that my supervisor was trying to steal me away. I told the producer that he better invent a job for me if he wanted me to stick around, so, kindly, he did. Here I sit, working as a temporary Production Assistant until that next story gig starts in June.

The money is by no means great, but it's only temporary. I'll get that nice story money in a little less than two months. My job basically consists of driving things to places and dropping them off or picking them up. I get compensated 36 cents per mile, and I already have about 100 miles, so that's already two and a half tanks of gas bought and paid for. Nice perk. Best of all, it's at my old company, less than 10 minutes away, and I barely have time to have a smoke much less contemplate my mortality.

As always, the universe likes to flaunt it's sense of humor. The first place I had to drive Monday morning, almost immediately after coming in? Yeah, you know what I'm going to say: That opposite corner of Los Angeles, where the other job would have been.

It took me over two hours to get there and back.