Shite.  I wanted to write tonight, but I don't know what about. I always

pass up that impulse to write, as if I can just set it down on the table

and come back to it in an hour, when circumstances are more convenient for

me.  Just can't drill it into my head that things don't work that way.  

Slow day today.  Watched Suicide Kings with mikeh.  Cool guy.  Big part of

him that reminds me of myself, but something integral different.  Can't

place my finger on it.  Not bad, not at all.  Just different.  Maybe

closer to me somewhere else in life.  "You're just not thinking fourth

dimensionally!"

Right, right, I have a real problem with that.



Arr, I had a title for tonight's writing in here, even.  But it is

escaping me now, as is what it related to.  Pei told me today that humans

life spans are related to the number of times their heart beats.  With all

the sleeping I do, I guess I'll live for a long time.  If my lungs and

liver don't give out first.  Soy un oso?  Am I a bear?  Just as winter is

the cold, rainy, wet season, and bears hibernate through it, I have cold,

rainy, and wet times in my life, either because of storm clouds lurking in

my brain, or storms outside, real or imagined, keeping me from going out

to play, and instead I sleep more, until something interesting is going

on.  Mmmm, run-on sentences.  Interesting concept, this.  Bad habit,

though.  To shut down when I don't want to deal with the outside.  And to,

as Catherine says, introvert myself.  Like Wyatt Earp in Tombstone, after

the death of his brother;

"Can't you see?!?!  GET AWAY FROM ME!"