A Day like Molasses

Slow.. day.. at.. work.

In the afternoon, I freaked mildly about the whole Middle Eastern Guy roundup, and about things related to our government and some differences of opinion. I keep it vague here, because it's the sort of thing that's better handled in person, where tone of voice can add tact to words. Online, it belongs in my private entry. Besides, I don't fucking see anyone any more, and I should remedy that. I've allowed myself to become isolated by modern communications systems. I've become a goddamm recluse. I'm ashamed at how long it has been since I went to the gym. Somethin' ain't right in the cracker barrel.

Oh -- I've been meaning to take a long, pointless trip alone, probably in a bus, to nowhere in particular. I want the low drone of the engine and hundreds of miles of anonymous highway to simplify the brain, to make it go more linear. I could cultivate a calmer inner state though meditation, but getting a bus ticket is easier. I like traveling alone. It's very private.

On the way home, I stopped to return Amelie. Getting off the train at Porter just to return a movie is annoying, so I bought wine. The world is fucked up, and I'm discombobulated. This calls for drinking a glass of wine alone, the way a blizzard calls for beef jerky and beer.

eureka

I saw a not-GN, not-GNX, 1987-looking Buick Regal without a vinyl top this morning. So they do exist. If the guy had been driving more slowly, I would have tried to flag him down and make him sell it to me.

That didn't just happen.

My computer just restarted itself, just like it did the first time it started acting up.

I fixed the system clock (it was 24h fast) and restarted properly. My entries will no longer come from the future. My computer better stop fucking around.