Am I lying dick-floppingly nude in bed right now, surfing the internet and blogging? You bet your sweet hiney I am. Sorry to anyone for whom this is a regular occurance but I feel like Prometheus taking a well-earned smoke break right now. A fella could get used to this writing-lying-down shit. Maybe this is how I will write all my comic book masterpieces. It's a thing. (Chad came up with a brick shithouse comic concept, by the way, so I'm all atwitter. Although me talking about it now would be the equivalent of spilling the beans about a pregnancy while still in the first trimester. Heck, it would be like talking about it before coitus even occured. So: no.)

I should be working on my one-minute movie but I just can't get motivated on it. It's looking like this one is going to slip through the cracks. I feel like I need to focus on the stuff that actually gets my juices flowing and not the "obligation" projects. Truth be told, when I'm working on 30 I really like it. Almost love it. It's the rest of the time that sorta balls-sucks. So instead, I do stuff like watch 4 episodes of Deadwood in 26 hours. Did Sark just show up in town? Did that really happen? And Al jumping off his balcony to protect Mrs. Garrett, and Elsworth getting shotted, and all these other damn things? Makes me wanna say the c-word in a vehement context. But I'll save that for Friday.

Ouch: laptop batteries scald the thighs. A word to the wise. (And a poetical one at that.)

Well anyways. One door closes and another opens and all that jazz. Life remains weirdly circular for something with so many damned endings in it. I've been into the rum to deal with the harsh realities of everything I've left behind, and muskrat-lean though I may now be, I must shut down the glowing box and rest.