May 23rd, 2005


Where the wild things are

It's been a weird few days for me. My head is finally clearing a little now that I'm getting semi-regular exercise again (In the street like a DOG. A common curr!) so my writing is not quite the wasteland it has been recently. I even wrote a couple of political entries that appealed to Mr. Gay Republican himself, iconoclast, at least until I made the mistake of saying something undeferential about his favorite B-movie actor*. I have a few things I intend to post soon and some I never will, but the writing has improved. I've also lost a couple pounds again thanks to my new practice of not eating dinner unless I'm actually hungry, which is something of a revelation. You can get by on less than three meals a day! It has the added effect of making me go to sleep earlier, which is a good thing by virtually every measure. My natural cycle of sleep-wakeness is probably bed at 10:00 and up at 4 or 5 AM. Since society disapproves of that as an old-person's sleep pattern I sort of got out of it and went to a more conventional bed at 12:00-1:00 up at 7:00 schedule, but honestly that isn't really for me. I always feel more energized on a day when I've been up since 4:00.

Unfortunately I've had almost TOO much creative energy. Images race through my mind and are pushed out before I have time to write them down. It's frustrating. I need to take a few shots of liquid confidence (some may call it...gin) and get to scribbling to try to keep up. I also need to start seriously looking for a job after this week in which I FINALLY finish up things with my current boss and get that whole issue sorted out.

Finally my Playstation2 is dying. Before this generation I never had a game machine die on me and now I've lost two. At least the PS2 won't take my saved games with it. Bastard Xbox, I'll never love again.

*Saying that Ronald Reagan was not the bestest guy EVER sounds like the following to a conservative:

You: Hey, remember that girl you used to date? Joanne?

Conservative: Actually she was my wife. She passed on a couple years back. God how I loved her.

Y: Yeah. So. What a whore, huh?

C: Pardon me?

Y: Oh Joanne. She was a real cunt. A dirty dirty cumgargler.

C: What are you saying?

Y: Maybe not literally a whore, I don't know if she ever charged or anything, but even if she did it probably wasn't much since lord knows she wasn't a looker.

C: You bastard, I hate you!

Y: I killed her you know.

C (sobbing): Oh Joanne, my sweetest Joanne. I still remember when you asked me to fuck you for the gipper.
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