another one.

...it's ten minutes later. Each post could read like a new chapter, maybe.

Beatrice updated his blog a few weeks ago, when he had his eyes done and he couldn't do anything else because he COULDN'T SEE.

You can following the Adventures of Beatrice the Blind here. [October 2--I got rid of this hyperlink, in case he traces it.] Actually, it's Beatrice's entire blog, and it's a bore. So don't get too attached.

I've avoided posting a link to his site for some reason. I'm afraid I'll be discovered, my autonomy will evaporate and I'll be left to start another blog so I can write without hesitation. Mad knows about Knots, though, and if she lingered on the site awhile she'd discover Something Else, and plenty about herself that I can't seem to say to her face. Maybe she already knows, and she's better at holding her tongue than I give her credit for.

Exercise. I'm trying to exercise my wrist and fingers and head here, trying to get into the habit of sitting in a chair for periods of time while I discover the rhythm to make those periods fruitful. When I play guitar it takes anywhere from a half-hour to an hour before the neck is greased and my fingers wake up and the bar chords sound good and the notes don't ring. Writing is the same way, but it's always been something I've done for a grade. I want writing to be a recreation and hobby, and eventually a toned muscle that I might use to lift a few good weights. I spent far too long playing video games today, but Castle Crashers is like crack and even so when I finally was done I sat down here, in front of my window...that counts, right?

It really doesn't. Hm, it smells like autumn out there and it's only the middle of September, so it's early. I tried to load SimCity 3000, Unlimited, but I couldn't get the program installed, so I abandoned that and sat down to Blogger. It'll be Knots for a bit before I call Lovely and apologize for missing her call. Assuming Karfilov's latest title, which involves plastic guitars and the most influential band in the history of music, doesn't prove an unfortunate distraction. I'm going to find out if either of them know where my cigarettes went, but not before closing this damned browser window. I need to get away from arbitrary journaling, give enough time for something interesting to happen. And right now I'm just putting off the actual work I have to do, aren't I?

Thanks for sticking with me, Loyal Reader. I'm talking both to you and to myself, actually. Deep Purple's okay, Hugh Laurie's back on the telly in a week.

Yeah.

Oh, I need some advice. Do I want to see AC/DC next month? Tickets are about a hundred dollars a pop, for bad seats, and I'd have to take Lovely with me if I went. I could probably earn the money, but I want to start paying off the student loan I'll be accruing soon, too. Which is more important, in the long run? A once-in-a-blue-moon-type opportunity, or the establishment of an important and necessary habit? The girl in the apartment far across the street has curtains in the way and I can't see what she's doing. One day I hope to indulge the little voyeur in me, but only to satisfy what is pure curiosity. I'm not a creeper, I promise. God, I hope I don't find the government knocking on my door in a day or two.

I'm dislocated. It could be the coffee, it could be the time I've spent in front of a screen today. I need to get my brain back together, pile up all the mush it's become and mold it back into the reasonable piece of work it sometimes is. I hope you've enjoyed spying on me.