Well I'd say this has been just about the stupidest week of my life, except that last week was, in point of fact, stupider. So I guess I can't really complain. The good news is that I have rediscovered the meditative qualities of fine Cuban cigars. The other good news, depending on how you look at it, is that there is no shortage of rum. Fuck, I have so many bottles of rum by my side these days that my computer desk is starting to look like the rum cellar of the Black Pearl, minus ictho-sapien Boostrap Bill, but plus fine Sideshow Collectibles. Yarrrrrrr! It's good to know where you can wet your beak, or dock your galleon, or whateverthefuck.

You know what'd be nice? Ten fucking minutes of relative calm. Or even two. Two minutes of complete uninterrupted timeage, back on that porch before this all went crabways, and the world was just orange dresses and white underwear. That'd be good.

It is fucking impossible to find a cab at Main and Gerrard at this time of night on a Thursday, Internet, let me assure you of that.

My lips are vibrating. Someone needs to come by here and clamp down my lips.

Hey! You know what? I'm doing all right. I figured a lot of shit out about myself this week. Good shit. Shit I needed to know. Haven't quite evolved it into an executable plan yet per se, but the distinctions are there and the deliverables are only a matter of time. So yeah: I'm doing all right.