I forgot to post this last night. Not much here—I am trying, and that’s what counts (to everyone except Yoda, of course).

I’m trapped in the car repair place for an oil change, recall, and some minor maintenance. With good internet and a comfy chair, free machine-conjured coffee, one would think that I’m in heaven. I would be except for the large television which replays the retirement of Justice Sandra Day O’Connor endlessly, not adding much in the way of new information, but reiterating the same facts and analysis repeatedly. That is, they’re reiterating the same facts and analysis repeatedly. It’s enough to give me a headache.

But I’ll preserve and get to writing. I’ve done up my work for the day, and I’m ready for a long video-game-free weekend, where I plan to write, talk to Doolies, and sleep. Maybe I’ll throw in some cleaning during the weekend: that might be pushing my dedication, though.

Margo: what a great name. I need to find better names in my stories. I’m sick of the usual suspects, with the beautiful and understood Kem being the exception. Okay, that’s enough babbling. Time to dive back in and maybe or maybe not write something. Pathetic, yeah, I know.

I’m home in the early evening. On a normal Friday night, with Doolies not having call until tomorrow (which is why we’re not together this three-day weekend), we would be powering up the video games. But, thankfully, I’ve expunged the offending distractions from my machine.

I’m sitting outside on the beginnings of night. The clouds still hover over the lake and the thermometer can’t decide if it wants a warm or cool night. I hear a few firecrackers cracking in the distance, probably in preparation for Monday’s events. Or maybe the sounds are coming from a neighbor’s playing basketball or chopping wood. It’s hard to make out the noises. It’s definitely not firecrackers. Sorry for the false alarm.

I finished watching the directory’s cut of “Donnie Darko,” that amazing movie I spoke about a few months ago. The longer version (I’ve never seen a director’s cut that was shorter than the original movie—I guess in a director’s heart of hearts, they want to keep all the scenes in their movie, while the evil production companies what to cut the director’s little darlings) explained parts of the movie better, but I prefer the original. The, what-the-hell-is-going-on aspect was greater and therefore more rewarding to figure out w-t-h-i-g-o.

I know, I know, I’m wasting these words while I should be pounding out more words for the story I’ve been using as a skull cracker. I’ll get to it. I’m enjoying typing again, even though my wrists hurt a bit from working from the car repair place this morning.