Days and night blow by me like trees through the window while you speed down the highway. Is there a forest through there somewhere? Some say it's February already, but I'm increasingly convinced that time must actually be an illusion. How else to explain this feeling of being lost in space? I suppose it's spacetime.

My moments to myself are bus rides. I'm reading Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything which, while being thoroughly flawed, is nonetheless fascinating. It's nice to get in touch with one's primordial ooze before being swept up in the business of another day. I'm working like mad, subbing for enough different people that I'm never quite sure where I am, then - switch - I'm myself again. A work related multiple personality disorder. Still working towards quitting the weekend gig, but it hasn't happened yet because it's just to tenuous since I don't know how soon the extra hours will dry up at school.

Madness.

But... the new computer is finally happy again - it died the day we started relying on it, but through nothing short of a kung-fu miracle was resurrected. And here's a new template. What can I say but it's an improvement.

Now I'd better get ready to head off to work and be somebody else again.