President Bush meets Stephen Colbert's balls. I knew it'd be interesting, and I was right.

Crooks and Liars has partial video. It really has to be seen to be appreciated as a lot of it was in Colbert's pitch-perfect delivery.

Some commentaters at Huffington Post are pointing out that C-SPAN's pulled rebroadcasts of the event. Colbert, apparently, was a little too merciless regarding the news corps' complacency.

One gets the definite impression that those who booked Colbert for the event didn't have a clear understanding of his humour...

Well! That was an interesting headache yesterday! Moi says migraines, "feel like steel bolts are being driven thru your skull." What I had yesterday only felt like an icicle had spontaneously formed in my right parietal lobe. But it remained a constant companion throughout the day, and at one point I realised my cognisance was being truncated by it in such a way as to render my perceptions and comprehension simpler than normal. I felt like a child. Especially when I was driving, and I accidentally careened off some trash cans.

My attempts at lunch kept being thwarted by invisible forces. I'd made a comment on Spooky's journal mentioning In and Out Burger's grilled cheese sandwiches, so naturally I wanted one. But halfway there, I realised I'd left Olivia the cat's medicinal food outside the refrigerator it was supposed to be in. So I turned around and the bad traffic made the short journey nearly an hour long. Then I visited Marty, who made an offhand remark about Mexican food, so I suddenly needed Taco Bell. Traffic was strange, and the effort to dodge, Frogger-like, the multitude of slow, enormous vehicles, almost had me missing Taco Bell entirely. It was only when I was forced to park a distance away, and had walked across the enormous parking lot, that I realised I ought to've simply walked to the authentic Tacos mi Pueblo. But it'd been four hours since I'd gotten hungry, and it needed tending.

I didn't get In and Out until around 10:30pm. This was after watching Eraserhead for the first time in years, and maybe it was the best thing I could have done in my headache. See, the pain was sort of like an egg yoke sloshing 'round, and I was only really aware of it when it hit the sides of my head. So keeping still during the quiet, fascinating strangeness of Eraserhead worked well.

I watched the great special "Stories" feature, which is simply David Lynch smoking a cigarette and rambling about film school and his old friends. This put me, somehow, back in the mood for In and Out Burger, so I went, and marvelled at how the french fries were so warm, and the Coke was so cold.

This whole silly zen-child state finally broke when I said something to Robyn about Baby Sasquatch. I could feel the icicle crack and abruptly melt, the cold water trickling down through my grey matter.

To-day, I simply feel muffled, like I'm wearing a stocking cap five sizes too small.

Oh;

To-morrow, on C-SPAN:

White House Correspondents' Association Dinner
Apr 29 05:00pm

President George W. Bush and Stephen Colbert speak.

This could be interesting.

Head...hurts...Friends maybe reading...who get migraines...I shouldn't complain...but...ow.

There was this story on CNN a few days ago about a guy who tried to commit suicide by firing twelve nails into his head with a nail gun (impressive X-Rays at the link). He survived. See, Venkman? It would have worked if you hadn't stopped me.

I've been listening to the new Dresden Dolls album a lot lately. I think it's the best new album by any artist that I've heard in years. Here's a bit from "First Orgasm" I can relate to in an uncanny way;

it is a thursday
i get up early
it is a challenge
i'm usually lazy

I find myself wanting to argue with Amanda Palmer--

Look, it's not because I'm lazy. It's because I normally go to bed at 7am. That would make 10am a ridiculous wakeup for anyone.

Though, interestingly, it was shortly after buying the album that my sleeping schedule went through a massive, inexplicable shift. Lately I've been going to sleep at around 1:30am and waking up at 9am. However, since my grandmother decided to get the kitchen counters changed for polished granite, I'm soon going to have to wake even earlier. I can't win.

So, yes. Thursday, and I have to be out of the house. I'll probably just go to a nearby Starbucks and read. I haven't got a lot of money to-day. I blew too much a couple days ago on The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton and a collection of Alan Moore's writings for DC.

I watched a movie called Nightmare Alley the other day. It's a film noir involving carnies and it lives up to that concept. Tyrone Power as a hustler mentalist finds himself trapped in the bad existential web, his troubles exacerbated by a very wicked psychologist played by Helen Walker. Yes, the movie has everything, and I highly recommend it.

Okay, I'd better start cleaning my room...

I'm not feeling very talkative to-day, so here's a bunch of old pictures of Nesuko;


This is my original design I came up with when I was fourteen or fifteen. Back then, Nesuko (or "Nes" as her name was at that point) was a bounty hunter.


Here she is contending with the Raithuras' overcomplicated computer systems. These two pictures were coloured with an old shareware programme called NeoPaint, by the way.


Leaping forward a bit in time, here--I actually went through several redesigns of Nesuko before I got to this somewhat manga-esque one.


Another drawing of that particular Nesuko design. It was starting to look too much like Lina Inverse to me.


The first of what is essentially the current Nesuko design. There's her name in hiragana on the right, cementing the Japanese influence I guess (I was probably taking Japanese 1 at the time).


I was trying to think a little more about how Nesuko would move and fight. I decided to go the "ballet-fighter" route, though I find myself edging away from it as it's what Joss Whedon appears to being doing with River Tam.


Young Nesuko on her way to school. I was getting quite handy with the colour pencils a few years ago. It's kind of a shame I haven't had time or reason to use them lately.


A slightly overdramatic pose, yes? I copied the pose from a photo of a ballerina.


When Nesuko took ballet class, this is the outfit her mother bought for her.


Sit, Nesuko, sit! Good girl.

The world is full of sick cats. Even Victoria, sitting on my lap at this moment, who never gets sick, threw up a few minutes ago while I was eating oatmeal. That the juxtaposition didn't disturb my appetite at all probably confirms that I'm a cat lover.

Victoria's been hanging out with me a lot lately. Even when Tim was here on Saturday, she stayed in the room, playing with my black leather whip. Tim was meanwhile busy putting my old hard drive into my new computer, which Tim had given me for my birthday. That's right--he gave me a whole new computer, and a very nice one, too. I can now play Jedi Academy at the proper resolution, programmes generally work better, and I don't randomly lose internet connexion. It's quite nice, really.

The computer itself even looks nicer, in its little jet black tower. I'd tried at first putting everything together myself--my intention was to put all essential stuff from the old hard drive onto disk, and merely use the new hard drive. When the CD burner on the old computer opted to finally and completely crap out, I hatched the scheme of simply putting the old hard drive in with the new, which proved a good idea in any case, as the old has 60 gigabytes, and the new 40. The only trouble was that I had only the vaguest idea of what I was doing.

Opening the old case, I found wall to wall carpeting of dust, layered on like muscle on a human skeleton. It was quite disgraceful. Removing the hard drive was easy enough, but figuring what little red, and flat grey tapeworm cables were to hook into it on the other computer, was more puzzling. So I brought over Tim, who put it all to rights. I had some trouble getting Microsoft Word to work yesterday, but everything seems in the pink now.

I've started reading Gene Wolfe's The Knight. I've never read a Wolfe book before, though I remembered enjoying the short story he wrote for the prose Sandman collection. And I'd been very much in the mood for a medieval fantasy novel, which is the sort of thing I grew up on, but which I haven't read in a while. So far, The Knight's been a wonderful read. Though I suppose I technically oughtn't to be reading it, as I only bought it six months ago, and I have books I've been borrowing from people for longer than that. Sometimes I wish I wasn't such a slow reader...

A new Boschen and Nesuko is arrived. More questions are posed. Few are answered. Ain't I a stinker?

"...and, yes, Virginia, all because the truth won't save you now..."

In the wake of White House press secretary Scott McClellan's resignation, the Setsuled Mint is proud to present this commemorative likeness.



Farewell, Scott Baby.

Here's some scary shit for you this morning;

Kevin Ray Underwood, the guy in Oklahoma who kidnapped, raped, and ate the flesh of a 10 year-old girl, has a blog.

What's especially scary is how similar the guy's blog is to some blogs I read regularly. He even has a link to Wil Weaton's site, which I don't read, but which is a site I sort of like.

And he seems to've been a news junkie. I'm glad there's no link to Boschen and Nesuko on there or something. I'm already feeling like James Stewart's character in Rope, realising how horribly individuals can't misinterpret ideas I often espouse.

I hope Blogger doesn't take the site down, though. This really, I think, shows how blogs can function as anthropological artefacts. Imagine if Jack the Ripper had a blog. Eerie stuff...

Wearing my contact lenses for the first time in a long time this morning. It makes the monitor look huge for some reason.

So now it looks like I'm a day person, at least for now. The nice thing is that I finish Boschen and Nesuko pages early in the day. The bad thing is that I ended up not being able to see Terminator 2 last night. I only hope I'll be back to normal by the time Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is showing on May 6.

I really wish there were more theatres showing old movies. I got incredibly jealous when Caitlin mentioned having seen Citizen Kane in a theatre. Cinemas like that need to exist around here.

Not much else to say. I watched Gun Crazy on Friday, which was a delightful movie. I liked it more than Natural Born Killers. Which I watched last week, and was interesting to watch next to A History of Violence, as they're both meditations on the role of violence in our culture, only A Hitory of Violence is far subtler and carries a therefore much greater impact. Natural Born Killers is cartoonish in its best moments, too broad and confused in its worst. But I do think the cartoonishness is a lot of fun, especially when it comes to Robert Downey Jr.'s wonderful Australian, depravophiliac (is that a word?) journalist. Or Tommy Lee Jones' Sheriff of Nottingham-esque warden.

The movie is a cartoon, really. That's why it doesn't bother me that skinny little Juliet Lewis can win fistfights with big guys and is placed in a men's prison so that she and Mickey can be easily reunited.

But Gun Crazy, another tale of married bandits, has slightly more realistically drawn characters, and is strangely more delightful in its wickedness. Maybe it's gentle John Dall's hapless love for the naively bloodthirsty Peggy Cummins. Or maybe it's just that doll, who halfway through the movie ends up not being the simple femme fetale I thought the movie was setting her up to be. It's a good movie.

And check out this suggestive autograph;

I ate breakfast at Submarina yesterday. There was no-one behind the counter when I entered, but after a few moments, eight pretty girls appeared, all of them looking to be around nineteen years old, and all of them the same height (around five feet). Two helped me with my sandwich while the rest gabbed amongst themselves.

I glanced behind me and saw that the wall mounted television was tuned to Fox News with closed captioning. I immediately had a mental image of some meaty, middle-aged Republican manager surrounding himself with young girls. I pictured the rapport they must have;

Harold opened the register drawer and his face seemingly became stone. Bebe's face turned beet red as she wondered if she'd come up short again.

"Yer a good, American girl, Bebe," said Harold. He shoved the drawer shut with one paw and patted her cheek with the other. "Now, I want you, Tiffany, Bambi, and Coral to get yerselves cleaned up real good. And then I want you to show me yer hands before you handle fresh bread."

Not exactly the best breakfast thoughts. Maybe I should've had eggs. I opened the refrigerator this morning and an egg popped out, splattering over the floor. It was almost like a prank. I wonder how it could have gotten in such a precarious position.

And, yes, it is morning, and it is breakfast time for me. I slept from 10pm to 5am. I finally put my foot down and decided I wouldn't take the small sleep bits I'd gotten the past week--I'd been sleeping three to five hours in the morning, then for about four hours from 3 or 4pm until 7 or 8pm. On Friday, I took the morning five hours, and stayed awake all the way 'til 10pm. I'd meant to go later, especially as at midnight to-night I plan to go with Tim to see Terminator 2 at the Landmark Cinema.

Woo-hoo! My sleeping schedule is off the hook!

I woke up to-day and lay in bed thinking, "Damn, I think I just got the first full night's, unbroken sleep in a week! I feel great, totally rested, ready to go, and altogether fresher than I felt before I went to sleep!"

Then I looked at the clock and saw that it was only 11:30am, and that I'd only been asleep for five hours, at best. Oh well. I won't fight it this time. To-day's the first Boschen and Nesuko page, anyway.

Yesterthursday's requisite stumbling about in the garish waking world saw me buying movies. I got Rope, Gun Crazy, To Catch a Thief, Charade, and Kagemusha. That's two Hitchcocks, two Cary Grants, and two John Dalls, for whatever that's worth.

I also picked up a copy of The Wedding Banquet, which caused me to observe Fry's curious system of movie sections. I'd already checked the Foreign section and had determined that they didn't have The Wedding Banquet. Then when I noticed Kurosawa's Dreams in the Drama section, I decided to check Comedy for The Wedding Banquet. And there it was. I guess they said "Foreign" when they meant "Fringe." Sheesh. At least Fry's has a section for Criterion movies, which is nice.

On what I'm pretty sure was Wednesday night, I finished reading Caitlín R. Kiernan's The Five of Cups. Well, now, I guess that was Thursday morning. In any case, it was a good book.

It was Caitlín's first novel, its publication long delayed for various reasons. It feels very much like her first novel. It less prominently features the lingering love of textural language that shapes her subsequent works, though it does display her tendency to dwell on a series of interesting moments, rather than forcing the thread and needle of plot through them. It's a vampire story, maybe better described as a series of isolated vampire perspectives that are interwoven. I guess it reads as a fascinating series of testimonials.

As a vampire novel, I must say I was very happy about what one agent referred to--apparently as a negative quality--as the "uniform brutality." This isn't a story that wimps out like the Anne Rice books eventually do. None of the night predators eventually cop out and become secret defenders of justice, like Lestat. They stay creatures who feed off human death--man, woman, and child--from beginning to end. And it works.

I had a pretty good birthday. I went with family to see Friends with Money, the new Nicole Holofcener movie starring Jennifer Aniston, Frances McDormand, Catherine Keener, and Joan Cusack. It was a decent movie. It's hard to go wrong with a cast like that. Though, you'll have to bear in mind that I had a huge crush on Jennifer Aniston in High School.

The movie had good dialogue and character studies which were at turns mildly amusing and genuinely interesting. I really liked how it acknowledged that the idea that working for a living was somehow inherently noble is a sham. Too many movies are quick to enforce puritan work ethics by showing hard-working waitresses rewarded with great homes and picturesque lifestyles.

We afterwards had cake at my mother's house, where my sister had set up a Darth Vader themed table setting with Vader napkins, balloons, and little cardboard Vader masks which made us look more like bugs.

To-day's been good too. I've slept for most of it, and dreamt I was at some extravagant 1920s ball, and having a really nice time.

This was after this morning having an excellent omelette at The Living Room, where I also wrote a draft of the new Boschen and Nesuko's first six pages. I'm pretty clear on what changes I'm going to make, and on what the last two pages are going to be. So life's good at the moment.

Driver's licence renewal was a somewhat harrowing endeavour to-day. A few blocks from the DMV, I found traffic ahead of me suddenly slowing, and a moment later I saw it was because a man in a burgundy van was pointing a gun at us from the opposing lane.

He seemed to be providing cover for another fellow who stood outside his four door car, his arms across its roof, pointing his gun at a white SUV that'd stopped nearby.

I paid as little overt notice to the gun pointed my way as I could, and called 911 when I stopped at the next intersection, just outside the gunman's range of vision.

The DMV had no parking, of course, and I drove in figure eights, waiting for a spot to open as I talked to the 911 operator.

"Was the gentleman Hispanic or black?" was the first thing the operator asked.

"Er, I couldn't tell." I'd only seen the arm of the guy in the burgundy van, and the other guy had his back to me and was wearing a pale t-shirt. His arm was dark, but I couldn't tell if it was tan or brown. I didn't go into that much detail with the operator as he made it clear time was of the essence. I didn't explain the situation nearly as clear as I did above, but I was trying to be brief and I'd had only two hours of sleep, so I was a little foggy. The operator seemed intent on drawing conclusions; I had to correct him several times when he seemed intent on hearing that the gunmen were pointing guns at each other.

Finally he hung up and a moment later I heard sirens in the distance. I ended up parking in a nearby Target lot, and I saw a paramedic rushing down the street. So I guess something went down, but I still have no idea what--none of the local news sites I've looked at seem to have anything on it. Though most of them have stories of five or six other gunfights in the county, so maybe it wasn't such as extraordinary occurrence...

After finishing at the DMV, I went to the Target and bought copies of Natural Born Killers and A History of Violence. They were cheap. I might've gotten Brokeback Mountain except this first release lacks all the goodies of the upcoming Special Edition. I find myself looking forward to the next instalment of the Ang Lee/James Schamus commentaries. They have an interesting banter, as Schamus tends to be into the gentle ribbing and self deprecating jokes while Lee is always respectful and patient.

For Poetry Month, and the poetry meme begun by Poppy Z. Brite, I post;

The Human Abstract

by William Blake

Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor:
And Mercy no more could be,
If all were as happy as we;

And mutual fear brings peace;
Till the selfish loves increase.
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears:
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Catterpiller and Fly,
Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.

The Gods of the earth and sea,
Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain

Well, I just spent a fruitless hour searching for a Driver's Licence Renewal notice I received a couple weeks ago. It's the only thing that stands between me and being able to renew online. But since it seems to have completely vanished somehow, I have to get up in the middle of the day on Monday, go to the DMV, and get the renewal process going before my current licence expires on Tuesday (happy birthday to me). I've noticed, though, that usually one really crappy thing happens on or around my birthday. Maybe this'll use up that voucher.

While I was straining all the junk in my bag, looking for that one damned envelope, I came across Tom Waits' Alice album, which I've missed for some time. It was out of its case, wedged between papers. It must've fallen out at some point in the soup of papers I don't like wasting my time with. It looks pretty scratched up, but I'm listening to it now and it seems to be playing okay on the computer. I guess if it has problems, I can probably still rip mp3s from it.

I feel sort of dazed and misplaced to-day. This past week, I've basically been working on Boschen and Nesuko for all the waking hours that I wasn't eating, feeding the cats, and updating this blog (exceptions being Tuesday, when I visited my mother, and Thursday, which was Thursday). I'm not sure what to do with myself to-day, and I want to enjoy that feeling, and not worry about stupid driver's licence renewals.

Hmm. I have 666 e-mails in my hotmail inbox. Apparently I'm a packrat of satanic proportion.

New Boschen and Nesuko. This was a hard one for a variety of reasons.

Aw, I just saw the most hilarious report on CNN. I wish to the gods I could find video of it online.

It was a piece on some police officers who pose as thirteen or fourteen year-old children to trap online sexual predators.

Now, I've got no love for the creeps who take advantage of children like that. But the report was a dead masterpiece of Responsible Citizens completely clueless about their own nature and motives. Think Robert Downey Jr. and Tommy Lee Jones in Natural Born Killers.

The first thing that made me laugh was a recording of an actual conversation between a paedophile and an officer posing as a thirteen year-old girl. It's preceded by the reporter informing us that what we were about to hear was, "very disturbing."

PAEDOPHILE: "You've got a cute voice."

OFFICER (in a very sugary version of what might be a young girl's voice): "Thank you." (followed by giggling)

PAEDOPHILE: "You're horny, aren't you?"

OFFICER (petulantly): "I don't know."

PAEDOPHILE: "Hehehe, you got a cute voice."

What killed me was how obviously the officer was getting off from the playacting, probably without realising it. Who's the predator here?

Then we get one of those classic segments where the reporter is speaking to the camera in low tones while crouched in a car, explaining that he's at a park with some officers who are about to conclude a sting operation. They're about to arrest a man who's come to the park under the belief that he's meeting a fourteen year-old girl he met online.

After this, there's brief footage of four officers closing in on a young Hispanic guy carrying something small and blue in his hand. And one of the officers shouts--I kid you not--"Drop the beanie, Sir!"

It's that sort of thing that makes Thursday bearable.

I've got a lot to do and conveniently little to say.

But I'd like to express my appreciation of Homeland Security for investigating teenage girls over the internet.

Am I wrong to feel less disturbed that the old pervie was trying to woo a child than I am by the fact that he couldn't figure out it wasn't actually a real teenage girl? Thanks, U.S. government, for once again putting the best and the brightest in charge of our protection.

To-day's gotten off to a strange start (he said at 8pm). I came online to find all sorts of things I wanted to do while at the same time drinking my coffee and eating my oatmeal. But then I inexplicable lost internet connexion and it didn't come back for a really long time. I sat for several moments, glaring at the modem, saying "C'mon, you bastard!" But I guess that was the wrong tact, because nothing happened. I swallowed my oatmeal and sullenly got started on a Boschen and Nesuko page--but the moment the modem's little green light came on, I was back here like a shot.

Yesterday went extremely well, Boschen and Nesuko-wise. I'm really happy with the page I did, so happy I didn't mind that I wasn't finished with it until 5am, and had to go to bed without reading or watching anything.

Okay, I did read a couple of things online. See? This is how my sleeping schedule keeps getting pushed back.

While drawing, I had C-SPAN on, and caught part of an interview with Lieutenant Colonel Karen Kwiatkowski. She seemed like an interesting lady. A former employee at the Pentagon, she was writing about the NeoCon war fever while she was working among those wolves, as far back as 2002. She'd post these essays anonymously (otherwise, she'd have been court-martialled), and they've a very engaging voice, as well as being informative and, well, bleak.

Here's an archive of her anonymous stuff from 2002 and 2003.

I also recommend some of her newer writings;

This piece, essentially comparing U.S. attitudes toward illegal immigrants to prohibition was pretty interesting.

The mirror next to me says I look like crap, but I feel like shit. So much for mirrors.

I'm just tired, is all. And my hair is messy in a particularly impressive way. I have an uncanny yen for coffee, which doesn't seem sated by the quantities of the stuff I've thus far poured down my gullet.

But I did get everything done I needed to last night, and in time to watch the 1989, Tim Burton Batman which I've not seen since I was a kid. One thing that's definitely changed since my last viewing is that I like the Joker a whole lot more, and the Batman a whole lot less. I just can't buy Michael Keaton as Batman; his pathetic little arms, his floofy hair and sad little high kicks. Worse is the costume itself; he moves around in it like the Frankenstein monster, and it has this huge, pumpkin-like head. It's just hilarious when he's running across the street after Kim Basinger, holding the edges of his cape. He looks like a happy little prince.

Nicholson, meanwhile, sinks his big grinning chompers into the movie, and his story is loads more interesting than Bruce and Vicky's urbane romance. It's almost like Burton's more interested in monsters, hmm...

But I gotta hand it to Danny Elfman. Keaton may be unimpressive next to Bale, but the Elfman score remains unsurpassed. The opening credit sequence gives me a glimpse of what the perfect Batman movie might be like. The theme he wrote for Bats is as married, in my mind, to the character as John Williams' for Superman. I love the fact that the Elfman music was used as the theme song for the animated series.

I've had a real thing for Elfman lately. The past week or two, I've been strongly in the mood for female vocalists, but my Oingo Boingo albums have been the exception on my playlist. Well, and Morrissey, but that's only because Morrissey helps me feel productive. Truly. And, no, it doesn't make sense to me either.

But, yes, I woke up with a powerful urge to listen to "Weird Science" this morning. I've been hearing it lately as a criticism of creationism, and I sort of think it'd be cool if someone did a stripped down, moody cover of it.

So who are these ladies I've been listening to lately? The pile next to me has Josephine Baker, The Ditty Bops, Mazzy Star, Rasputina, The Dresden Dolls, Aimee Mann, Ani DiFranco, Fiona Apple, Julee Cruise, and Blonde Redhead.

I like to think this is a symptom of some kind of new perversion.

I had a really hard time keeping my eye on the ball yesterday. I think I was sick; my stomach felt kind of weird. I forced myself not to look at the internet and, after I got distracted by a Discovery Channel show on killer ants, I kept the television off. Though I did manage to draw earlier while listening to a replay of Senator Feingold's hearing for Bush's censure.

Gods, those idiot partisan Republicans. Feingold and his witnesses provided clear, unequivocal evidence of Bush's wrongdoing, and yet at the end of it, Arlen Specter acted like the whole thing was a farce.

I didn't finish pencil and ink until 4am, and then decided I'd use an hour before going to sleep to eat and read. At least I have the pleasure of knowing that I work harder than the president of our fine country.

So that means I have one page to draw and ink to-day, two to colour.

I'm still not sure what was wrong with me last night. I feel a little better, but I fear it may return. It wasn't just physical; it had me in a very useless state of mind. I found myself unable to want anything. The idea of finishing the drawing wasn't appealing; the idea of distracting myself with a movie, book, or internet wasn't appealing. I just wanted to sit still and stare blankly at the wall. Fortunately, the thought of how it would be if I got behind forced me to keep going.

I determined there wasn't enough good food around here, so I went to the grocery store at about 2:30am, and I tried to guess what my body wanted. I bought three apples and oatmeal. The apples were very good.