should be: in bed right now. Elena shall be here in only five hours now, but I realized that actually I like going around on 5 or 6 hours of sleep, and it actually makes me a little more energetic (at least more energetic than a girl who has just spent 10 hours in bed. Those are just groggy all day.), but the problem is that there is no. way. that I'll get up on my own after less than 8 or 9 hours. So I should take advantage of the fact that a sweet girl shall be here to hug me in the morning and make sure I get dressed and don't forget to brush my hair before we head out!
reading: just finished The Stranger, about to start some new Faulkner before I go to sleep (Absalom! Absalom!), almost the entirity of siobhan's archives.
(Favorites: some lovely fiction, and a much more recent one. Is it ever so dorky of me to be linking so constantly to a girl that I don't really know? If so: apologies, I'll make a serious attempt to be cooler. But, oh, there's one more.)
watched recently: Grosse Point Blank, Blades, bits and pieces of High Fidelity (Ean and Brent wanted to prove to me that the second girl, chronologically, was really hot, because for some reason (that reason being that I read the book which was obviously the more accurate version) I remembered the girl as frumpy and wearing a big ugly flower-print dress with a giant long poofy shirt on it. After much mocking being done, they realized I had surrendered my point as soon as the girl moved onto the screen. (Yes, I realize the asininity of claiming one source of a fictional tale to be more accurate than another.)

***

Sigh.

I know I've been sitting at my desk for too long when I've already cleared it off once so I could put my calves up upon it, and it's completely covered again (four dishes, an empty jar that used to contain green olives, a pack of markers I dug out, and two letters from P to remind me to write her back (hey girl! I noticed you updated your webpage!) and also a potholder, because I brought a hot bowl of soup up here to create one of those dirty dishes.) So I suppose I'm tired.

More likely: I just miss my boy too much to be writing something that's not only for him. Sorry to the rest of you folks.