23 January 2007 20:02

Me and Bob McNamara

past perfect | future perfect then | now peek | scrawl compose | notes booklog stuff to ponder

I smell like evil gingerbread, and I bet you don't. I am waiting for it to be 8:30, so that I can go to bed without worrying that I'll wake up at 4, and so that I don't feel like such a lightweight for wanting to go to bed since, well, since about 7:00. I am not going to watch the State of the Union, though I should; I made it through approximately three minutes of the speech the other week, and those were not a pretty three minutes, my friends. What is up with the nerd-guilt for sparing myself lies and idiocy, anyhow? I thought I'd given up self-punishment for some sacrificing-holiday or other. Not self-abuse, though. What do I look like, a martyr? That joke was just crouching there, waiting to be made, and I apologize for its obviousness and lack of funny. It's quite apparent to me that I should take my book on a former Secretary of Defense and go to sleep. love, might