May 13th, 2005

(no subject)

Okay, I've spent a few days being a sloth. Didn't feel bad, actually. Lay around reading junk fiction off of I don't think I'd like it on a long-term basis, but it seems to have been useful internally.

How? I'm not sure. It seems to be the nature of these internal things that they don't talk to my intellect, which is what I usually am using when I'm banging keyboards. So I'm in the frustrating position of having done *something*, but *I* don't know what.

And my Dad and my brother are back from Vegas, and my Dad wants to talk to me. This is fine; I want to talk to him, too. But I somehow suspect we have different topics of conversation in mind.

Gabe has one more show to do, and I need to spend more time with Zack. And there's a whole lot of mundania that wants me to do it about last week or so. And then there's a future to attend to. Such is Life.