I've been working with Viv on a project for her company these past several days and nights, sometimes going past three in the morning, so I've been unable to feed my addiction to this journal. This has left me wan and overweening, distant and morose, Sacco and Vanzetti.
See? I'm just not myself.
But I'll get better as soon as I get some rest. I'll respond to your e-mail. I'll show you some pretty pictures. And the routine I'd come to know and love will once again return.
Today feels weird. It's Veteran's Day, so there's no school. Amy has gone to the office with her mom, for what may be just a half-day of work. This means I have this block of time to myself but, after a few nights of just two or three hours of sleep, very little brain function left to enjoy it. Did that make sense? I can't tell.
And I'm still running off these extension cords. Wow. When metaphors fly up and introduce themselves, like that one just did, it's a sign of some kind of delirium, I'm sure.
Sleep now, apologize later. Bye.
"Lullaby In Ragtime" -- Harry Nilsson -- A LITTLE TOUCH OF SCHMILSSON IN THE NIGHT
Wisdom of the Day:
"Farming looks mighty easy when your plow is a pencil and you're a thousand miles from a cornfield."
- Dwight Eisenhower