Awaiting Word of Sleep

And here I am, sitting at the computer reading endless geeky web articles to my little heart's content.

Today is the first day since Monday (or was it Tuesday...) that I smoked weed — trust me, that's a pretty big gap for me — and how did I spend the day? Diverting my attention with various forms of intelligent entertainment. Yes, because stonerds are such uncommited slackers. In the meantime, ask me how many different forms of paper-based project management systems I know. Slacker my ass.

But I am lazy. I spend a lot of time sitting. Hey I danced for about three hours today; that's pretty darn good. I was almost worried my body would feel it tomorrow, that my legs and back be stiff with knotted muscle. But I know that's not going to happen, I'm as loose as a goose. And it's my fingers that are tired, the very un-ergonomic design of electric garden tools taking their toll. Of course, I wouldn't mind a nice glass of wine to further warm my body, nor would I deny any extra strength pain relief. I don't hurt (amazingly) but it sounds fun nonetheless. Consider it a preemptive measure.

So why is it that I am here, at the computer, reading vast amounts of prose by authors I've never heard of and whom, I believe, have taken their writer profiles only half-seriously? I am waiting. I have so much to do and so many places to be, and yet here I sit: waiting. But for what(?).

Oh, I know what for. Or for what, I'm not sure. But if I say, it isn't as fun, is it? Mysterious games of hide and seek are much more enjoyable — but boy do they make me appreciate the promptness of direct confrontation. Immediate results are key in most of my dalliances; not here. This is not the time nor place for such rash actions in the name of lust and.... Lust and... finishing the gauntlet. But I have time too; forty years better spent alone with the truth of your own mind than forty years with a fake (though still forty years alone, you know). I would just appreciate it if time would tick a little faster, thank you.

I'm in need of innane beautiful objects. I want some Dada art. Dadaist poetry would be even better. Some silly blue glass bowl with holes in it, costing in the thousands of dollars and coming from some chic Swedish design school. It should be meant to hold liquids, and the people who see the bowl and hear its purpose should be baffled. I need something useless, yet profoundly amazing.

Tonight is a night of taking the tabbed browsing experience to the max. But achingly slowly, because only so many high tech, graphics-intense web pages can load simultaneously over a 56kbps connection. But I think I'm done opening new tabs (constant Right Click "Open Link In New Tab") and am slowly whittling the numbers down. A constant journey over endless terrain.

And so I wait until the time is right, I sit here and tell others I am simply waiting for my favourite mug in the dishwasher, so I can make yet another cup of hot chocolate; yet it is more. It is a wait for eternity that is seeming to last forever. Tick tick.

At least my mug is clean.