I have 7,205 'dirty' pictures.  They take up 442,912,423 bytes of disk space.  If it weren't for blogger, I'd have nowhere to say that. 

So what!!   Yup, I agree.  insignifica inundiata.  That means, "I got blogs up to here!"

So, back to the business of blogging.  It was the viewing of the pictures that occupied all my time yesterday... well, not just viewing them, but... (Eieewwww, icky!)  Anyway, that big manual I brought home from work never left its place in my bike bag, where I had placed it -- with the very best of intentions -- around midnight on Tuesday before leaving work.  And my iPAQ, once it finally made it's way out of the bike bag and into its synch-cradle, never moved again nor made a peep.  I have all the acoutrements of an active life, without actually living.  I am an Egyptian mummy. 

Now, mummy's got to go to work.  

Another great thing about blogger is that when midnight comes and I have wasted an entire goddamn day stuck to this web like a dying insect, I can still post something dated yesterday, thus redeeming the lost day. 

Well, now I see that that is not true.  I must have gotten the time warp notion from Blogger's main page where, for exactly one minute at 9:34 PM PDT, it appeared that I had stopped wasting my life three hours ago. (As if posting this drivel stops my descent toward absolute zero. No offense, Blogger, but keeping this blog probably accelerates my descent -- I only do it because I really want to look like I have a life, too.. 

I'm starving.  That's the substance of my existence right now. Actually, it is a dilemma; I have in the freezer a pint of ice cream, which I should not have purchased two days ago, but that is a story I have already failed to tell. Gotta move on.  Someone -- a writer probably -- said once, "If you wake-up feeling the inspiration to write, just eat something sweet and the feeling will go away." 

I'm starving, and I'm gonna eat the ice cream, even though sugar depresses me, and I certainly don't need to be any more depressed than my usual. But the alternatives are...  well, dull.  I mean, what would the world be without an occasional plunge from a bridge to spice-up the drive-time?   Or an airline disaster to make us wake and wonder if there's not more to this destination than we thought?   I grew-up wanting to put my cock where it was not supposed to be, simply because everything I was taught about life -- and how to live it -- was so goddamn dull.  As it turns out, cock-placement has never provided anything more than merely fleeting relief; it's not where you put it that matters, but what you do when you get there. 

I'm starving, but I'm going to tease the gnawing hunger a little bit, like gastronomic foreplay, because there's a three month old leak in my bike tire that I didn't fix today -- again.  And because there's a classified section from Sunday's paper right beside me listing apartments for rent with phone numbers I should have called Sunday night that I still haven't called, in search of the apartment that I am going to need in three weeks, which I still haven't found.  And because in twelve hours I'll be firmly under my employer's thumb again, at a subsistance job I hate, where all my skills and talent and inspiration will be discounted out-of-hand -- much like when I am home all day, alone. 

But it is all OK, because once I fill my gut, everything will matter a little less, and that is bad because there is little that matters now.  Writing this blog isn't much, but at this moment it is something. In twenty minutes whatever tiny inspiration may have briefly flickered here will be thoroughly buried under a pint of Ben & Jerry's Apple Crumble. 

I'm not despondant, I'm just sick of all the nothing.