burtlo

I've been home. I've been poor. I spend my time riding my bike too and from work. I sit in my office now crowded with the remanents of fallen computers and the open cardboard carcasses of younger, sleeker systems.

I've taken to spend hours sitting and staring at the computer screen at work and then finally when I get home. I'm a bit of slave, a potato, to my eventual vegetation.

Though Palahnuik's Choke, interests me, it doesn't compell me like what I have read before it. It's list after list after list of actresses, diseases, sexual addiction exploits, dead females, etc... But I read on because it's easy.

The only recent excitment, came in the form of a fastmade friend from the past new years. A girl that came to visit the glorious sunrise of Seattle and the tasty treats of "Never on Sunday."

Though, I can't complain. I'm happy. Elle hugs and kisses me and tells me I love her ... and I do the same. Though, I keep thinking I need to make a call for some serious take-out "cuddling." The kind of cuddling that leaves you with sore knees and chapped elbows. Your lips swollen, your body stinking, and that little cord under your tongue (what's that called?) irratatedand inflamed. The craving left unsatisfied.