I could be sleeping, I could be dreaming
I got a spam email this morning that said, "You used to be mind-blowing. What happened?" Sure, it was an ad for some penis enlargement thing, but the question remains.
On last night's news, they were telling the story of some subway shooter (like the 10th in 3 weeks or something. Remember back when stabbings were the preferred means of subway violence?) ,and the copy must have said the shooter was 5'7" (confirmed by this mornings update, wherein the suspect is 5'7") but the lady said he was between 5' and 7' tall. I can't even tell you, hours of laughter.
Can I just tell you that I haven't had a new Degrassi since Thursday? It's not OK.
Yesterday my computer (my very first own Mac, as it happens) was supposed to come, but it didn't. AppleCare and .MAC came though. Useless. Apple, this is not a good start to what I hoped would be a long and loving relationship.
I should be working.
It was so cold this morning, but so hot last night. This is a weather phenomenon I can't get my mind around. Is it that it is so hot all day it takes hours to cool down? Is it even less logical than that? Why do I even pretend to understand these things? Anyway, it is the worst way, because you go to bed and are too hot and uncomfortable and can't sleep, then at about 5AM you get freezing and try to find your blankets, then when you are supposed to get up at 7, you are still freezing and can't get out of bed. I don't know who makes the weather, (Jesus, is that you?) but he/she/it -- let's just say they -- really need to get it together.
I really thought "24 Hour Party People' would explain Ian Curtis' suicide more, not make it even more confusing. I need to get a book or something. The movie was good, though, worth your 2 hours for the genesis of Bez scenes alone, even.
Do I owe you an email? Likely, as I owe roughly 88% of everyone in existence an email/real mail/some mail. It isn't that I don't love you, it's that I don't love me. OK, not that, just that I am a mess. I will get to it. I promise.



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