Whoa.

For a second there I was caught in a recursion loop where I first thought about writing about how I was writing (sitting on the couch, six feet away from the monitor.), then I thought about writing about how I was writing about writing, then I thought about writing about how I hate it when I wind up writing about how I'm writing, then I thought about writing about how doubly hypocritical it is to write about writing about writing. Then the meta levels piled up until SegFault, and here we are again, with nothing to show for it.

It is F minus 3 today. I better archive everything useful and stick it on jaz disk. On the 15th, I will format Nerve and reinstall everything. I wonder where my Windows '95 OEM number is. Hey... I just remembered. 500 Megs of space on drive E are a linux fs. Hmm. I forget what I have in there. I don't remember where my 2.0.29 bootdisk is. Burble burble.

To "burble" is to prattle on ineffectually.

Woop. Someone just unplugged my phone cord. Click. That hasn't happened since I lived with mom.

Hee hee...5-2-92: "I think I am going out with Judy. I guess that means I should dump Angela." Andrew, budding social idiot.

Gosh...I'm unusually tired. Perhaps my body is expending energy fighting off whatever sickness I have. I'm going to sleep now. Super early. I should be answering email, but I don't really have the energy to give it an appropraite amount of thought. Oh no... all those words make everything seem like such a big deal. How to compensate? Hmm.. Ok, any and all serious consideration that would be directed at any of the other words should instead be concentrated on the following: "of".

Eh? I just tried sending email, and my SMTP server is rejecting the addresses I feed it. weird. I can't send email. huzzah.

I'll do my email tomorrow, otherwise all anyone will hear from me is "bleah bleah bleah".