I hate it when life gets boiled down to like four things. Go here, go there, do this, eat, go home, repeat. I'll have to let that guide me during any future moments of lovingly sculpting my existence. Which I do so frequently, as you know. Some people like it, I guess (the whole four things thing) and then a lot of people do it just because they think they have no choice. A lot of the time I feel like I have no choice.
���� Tuesday morning, El Capit�n dragged himself out of bed and then downtown to see a psychiatrist. It's hard to see where exactly that falls in the spectrum of choice; I wonder if, in the pounding physical misery he was undoubtedly experiencing, he noticed that it was a beautiful morning. In any case it set off a chain of phone calls that in turn set numerous people in southeastern Massachusetts to reacting and interpreting, speculating, judging, and in some cases driving. Synapses and sparkplugs firing all over the place, Tuesday morning.
���� So now he's out in Worcester until Sunday, I guess.

���� The last couple days have consequently included some time trying to envision possibly revised configurations and locations for the Units. Also: Mathew fell off a ladder and broke his foot or something, and Nicholas did super on all his Boards, and cat is lonely, and I'm changing residences some time in the next week. Luckily, every time I get a free hour I can't decide whether to run in the woods or play the guitar. Which, which, which! WHICH?! I mean, come on -- it's ridiculous. Did you ever look at your computer and imagine it built of pink tissue -- the vascular kind -- and wonder how it would work if you shot it full of hormones? Would it identify its own crazed perfectionism, freak out, and then, for example, drink itself to death?

���� In my pocket though,
���� Chu Chu Rocket.
���� Ahhh, Chu Chu Rocket.

���� Seriously.


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