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Last night, while I was reading through 'Neuromancer', I suddenly got the craving to write again. It was the fictionalized autobiography itch this time, the same one I'd occasionally been having for awhile. Somehow, I flipped open my laptop, started typing, and 2-3 hours later I'd written a short story that doesn't seem to suck. I'll have to get some second opinions on that before I post it.

Kinda funny: takes me over a year to write a mystery and a few hours to write popular fiction. It was effortless and painful, a knife-stroke, just the way it should be.

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Speaking of getting productive, though, I finally made some headway on all this worry over Wisconsin stayed stuck in my head.

I'd been dealing with the guilt for months, wondering why a sliver of it followed me everywhere, tethered like noise-makers to those ice-cream carts in parks. Why couldn't I just enjoy myself and stop worrying about what I was going to do research on? Couldn't I just have a little more care-free time (even if it never quite felt that way)? So today, more on a whim than anything, I began to read a few of the science articles I'd downloaded back when I was working for Professor Jim-Bob (a.k.a. Rear-Admiral Fuckhead) down in Discordia.

And a funny thing happened: the instant I started reading and getting into the science jargon flow again, I felt immensely happy. Manic happy, building from just being pleased to running around your head in quiet, thoughtful circles, not really knowing what to do with all the excess energy. It was hard getting through the article in that emotional state, but I felt alot better afterwards, like I'd simultaneously dropped some baggage and gotten a disco globe grafted onto my head.

Better late than in therapy, I guess.

Other than that I followed the usual 'Me at Gran's' routine: sleep, wake, half-doze, order and eat a Pannido from Jack's, watch X-Play, and tune in to my favorite soaps on C-SPAN and C-SPAN 2--which for the non-Americans playing the home game is live coverage of The House and The Senate; I'd watch Parliament sessions too but BBC America is a twat.

Let us not forget the whole point for me being here, though, and what intermittently takes up a few hours of time every day. Yes, yardwork--sweet, sweaty yardwork. Right now that consists of tearing up the huge patch of ground ivy in the front yard, which had completely covered the front gardens and stepping stone walkway, like a still lake of parasites and bliss. I've weed-whacked the hell out of most of it, though, and started making progress. I end up having to take a break after 40 minutes, though, since tearing up ivy consists of me using these branch loppers as a makeshift hoe, smacking the tangle of roots underneath, lifting up god awful amounts of dust, then severing all the surrounding roots so I can throw away a clump. The stepping stones have seen the light of day again, thankfully, and tomorrow I'll make progress toward Mr. Spikey, the asparagus fern that Gran wants to keep because it droops all cool. Her yard, her makeshift hoe, so I obey.

For dinner we ended up going to B*mbino's, this great italian place over near my ages 5-6 house near Winnetka. I'd always remembered the place from some vague memory of a really great night; I think I was 7, maybe. Anyway, Gran had rediscovered that they had good food, and since the trattoria over in Calabasas suddenly closed some months ago, we decided what the hell. I ended up being adventurous (as far as I go) with my order, going for Chicken d'Angelo, which translated to skinless chicken and mushrooms covered in marinara and enough cheese to blanket the thing. This thing was easily 3 meals in itself, 2 of which are now waiting in the fridge along with more Kern's Nectar.

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I just re-read the fictional autobio story for the 3rd time. It still doesn't suck. This is a good sign. Unfortunately it's 3am, my upper back needs to be cracked back into place, and The Captain is picking me up sometime in the morning to go over at see Farenheit 9/11 with the other n'er-do-anythings. Trouble is I forgot exactly when the pick up time is.

Oh well, details details...

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