What, are there fucking sunspots or something?

My phone keeps dropping my Internet connection. Yes, I dial up. No, I'm not ashamed.

So, David Carradine, eh? Boy, I bet his face is red. OK, blue...well, a little of both. Purple. We'll call it purple.

It's been a day, I say. I was at the library...God, I can hardly bear to look at my article anymore. I want to shred it. OK, I've already done that in the revision (sigh), but I want to physically annihilate all 50 pages of it. Possibly fire it out of a potato cannon into a tornado or something. I salivate at the thought of inflicting damage on it.

Other than occasional bouts of exasperation with the person who wrote the fucking thing, it was a pretty good day, I thought. Four hours in the library re-revising and re-researching. Tomorrow I re-re-revise. It would re-re-retarded for me to re-re-research any more. Tomorrow is more of the same, only this time I will attack it with the full force only possible at laundry time. Yep, the most productive hour and 28 minutes of my week.

I have strange rituals, and laundry is just one of them. The one that is really almost inexplicable is my inability to sleep unless I have taken a scalding hot shower. As soon as I have taken the shower, however, I almost instantly pass out. I was awake in bed last night for 2 hours at least. I got up, talked to my roommate for about 10 minutes, took a shower, and I swear to Christ I don't remember getting back into bed. Seriously, it knocks me out that fast. Have I somehow conditioned myself? Self-hypnosis? Or, am I perhaps inadvertently loading my dice: I stay up until I am really tired (maybe not realizing it?) and then take a shower right as I am getting drowsy? I don't know.

My creepy neighbors are at it again. This time, it seems that they are doing some major construction in their apartment. I walked outside into the hall this morning, and there was a door lying in the hall. "Oh, Lord," I thought. It's at this moment I am faced with a decision: do I go down the hall toward the sound of buzz saws or do I take the stairs that lead out to the front of my building? I am carrying a bag of trash, mind you, and the dumpster is out back....but the shortest route there goes past that weird apartment. Their door was open this morning, but the bag was heavy and might puncture. It was a hell of a dilemma, and I am lucky that I am not still standing out in the hall in front of my door. Actually, the situation demanded action, since they could come out into the hall at any moment and I would have to--gag--interact with them.

I took the long way out. There is no guarantee that if I went past the door that the Offspring would not be standing just inside in his tighty-whities, which happened once. It made Carradine's death look dignified.

When I came back early this afternoon (they were doing their construction at about 7:30 or so), the door had been replaced with a bathroom sink. What in the fuck do you do that requires you to take out a door and the sink, I want to know? They are probably putting in a petting zoo or something. Sigh. That apartment is the mouth of hell, I tell you.

Alright, that's that. Tomorrow, if I can get a fast connection, I'll upload that 3rd podcast.

HJ