I had a super-tasty uber-huge carnitas burrito for lunch.

Mmmm. Food coma!

For some reason, I'm compelled to make notes in this thing while on downtime at work. Either attempt to give my nutty ramblings some structure and sense, or sneak in a couple of pages of whatever book I happen to be reading at the moment. Right now I'm on an Alex Garland trip. I finished "The Beach" on the plane ride home from Las Vegas at the end of July and now I'm near the end of "Tesseract." I'm impressed. Garland has a way of telling stories makes you feel the Manilan sun on your neck, the sweat rivulets roll down the back of your shirt, or the fine grit of sand as it squishes up between your toes. The stories are complicated, dark, and strangely human. I'm impressed. Inspired, even.

Next Great American Novel, Here I come!

Maybe I'll publish some of my work on this thing. You *will* tell me what you think, right?

It's funny, when it comes to writing, sometimes I feel like a deaf/mute with one hand tied behind my back. I feel like I have all the words locked in a trunk, along with the key. I feel like Coretti from William Gibson's "The Belonging Kind," a linguist who can't play speak in the social game.

I feel like I stutter. I feel like I try to say too much, yet end up not saying enough.

Anyway. I'll work on it.

And we now return to these messages...