Stream of Consciousness

It would happen this way. Everything dries up at once. I can't sleep. I've finished my book and don't have another to start (unless I want to start reading things that I know I won't like, whether because of genre or author, or if I want to read one over). If I watch more of The Wall I'd be tempted to make popcorn and that'll make the insomnia worse. I can't play on the web because the Windows machine is rendering a graphic, going on 22 hours now. I have no changes to make to my web page. I have no muse for poetry. I have no email left that I can answer (the one remaining piece in my inbox is something I need the web to work with). The three women I'd be most likely to talk to online aren't around: one is long since asleep, one hasn't been online in a few days (she's taking some sanity time for herself), and the other has no computer, so she's been bumming off friends with her hotmail account.

There is nothing for me to do but ramble.

There's a couple of Steve's graphic novels lying around, but those have never been my thing. There's one more volume of Calvin & Hobbes that I haven't gone through yet. I've read all the strips, of course, but it was so long ago I'd forgotten most of them.

I guess I should really do this more often, this writing down the thoughts that are constantly running through my head anyway. I'm always having little mini-fantasies with myself, all in my head. Always having these little conversations with myself. Just to pass the time, usually.

Of course, if I tried to get them all down I'd be constantly writing, with no time for anything else. So that wouldn't work. Or I could invest in a tape recorder and just say them aloud. But I think that would be embarrassing; often it's the same thing over and over, getting it perfect. Or at least changing it.

I got the idea in my head once that whenever I played the piano, just goofing off rather than actually trying to play something specific, I should tape record it, just in case I liked it, I might have a vague chance of re-learning it and perfecting it, maybe even writing it down. That was short-lived, of course; I never could remember to set up the tape recorder.

So I'm sitting here, watching this graphic create itself from what I told it to create. Not very exciting, I'm afraid, but the most interesting thing in the apartment at the moment. it's kind of strange the way the colors are forming on the central figure: red, orange, green, and blue, when the only color I remember giving it was a greyish violet.

I've been in one of those moods tonight where I just want to kiss, snuggle, nuzzle, be close. It's a Friday, one of the few nights Steve & I have together, you'd think he'd want to as well. But instead he was up all day long playing on the computer and then sometime between when I left work and when I came home, he went to bed and hasn't been awake enough to do anything since. We snuggled for a while but that was all, and it's hard for me to just snuggle when I'm not really tired. So I got up and tried to check email only to find yet another heap of boredom.

And I'm really getting to hate this keyboard. All the keys are super-sensitive, it seems, so they're constantly typing double, and sometimes even skipping a character in between. It's really odd, but if there's typos in this, that's probably why. I'm naturally catching the ones I really made, just like I usually do, but some that are the fault of the keyboard are eluding me.

And I'm typing about a paragraph behind what I'm thinking. By the time I get around to typing about something, my mind is on a different subject. So I finish what I though of before and then move on to the next, and by then I've thought of something else again.

So I'll skip the bit about the juice and move on to something else. I don't know what, though; obviously when I try to think a step ahead of myself it fails. So I'll just type about typing and then go read the other Calvin & Hobbes book.