I never did really explain myself in that last post. My first post, really. I'm posting here now so that all of my old friends in Melbourne can keep track of my rants and ravings as if I had never left. Lurkers may, of couse, lurk as they wish; I will expend no effort on you, but feel free to read a little now and then.
It's so abysmally hot here. I drip. I dribble off of my chair. I tried to sleep, but found the darkness suffocating in this weather; I tried to phone Cal, but there was some out of service error. After weather checks, news site checks and many sleepily panicked text messages, I was left without anything else to do. He is fine, despite the mass blackouts and hysteria that has ensued from a day without The Simpsons or even a taste of the duplicitous joys of the internet within his general area.
I wish I had been there, with a megaphone of justice. "Go and read a BLOODY BOOOK!" I would have screamed, standing on a cardboard box of academic seconds - I don't think I could stand on a soapbox and maintain my sense of personal pride. Honestly, this dependance on television and electronic amusement is causing more hair loss from personal removal than Bush's tantrum in Iraq and the film "Troy" have (and that is a considerable amount).
Even so, I feel a similar dependance. Under my self-imposed rule, without which I might never stir from my bookshelves, I have another three hours of "sleep time" in which I cannot read. But I can't call Cal.
I think that I should try lying in the dark and waiting for the dawn.
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