Current Mood: exhausted...
The poet collapses now, into his chair, into his world of electronics. He sips his tea, checks his mail (the work-from-home company is a fraud, turns out), reads the news (bush is a conservative asshole, says the liberal assholes), and tries very hard to relax. Work is over. Now, finally, vacation can begin. 10 days without work. The poet almost smiles...almost. For there's still a website and a label that he's building for some people. There's still school and its insanity. There's still a novel that won't write itself. There's still a headcold that sometimes makes him sick to his stomach. There's still all that and more... but there's also bed, and sleeping. He looks forward to the sleep.
I'm hoping the rest of my vacation will prove to be relaxing. We'll just have to see.
G'night, all
