I'm IMing. I haven't really done it in awhile. When I was in my teens, it was like texting to teens these days. I was addicted, and I was really good at it. I was able to get my point across, be funny, and maybe even enjoy myself. These days it's much more utilitarian. Much like any writing I do. I have to be prodded into it, and even then it's only a shadow of my former voice. Regardless of that. I'm IMing. It's hard for me to talk. Getting over a cold, now compounded with another one. I ordered pizza from the place that lets me order online just so I wouldn't have to talk. And how did the IM end? "I believe in some traditional gender roles." What does that even mean? Subtextually I'm not sure. On the bright side, it's 9PM, and I'm awake. Unusual.
A two-for-one. I can't imagine anything more perfect.
Oy.
It's just after 8pm. My hands are completely caulked. Today was my first experience with it, and I left the top (the top that I fashioned by knifing the upper section off) off, and ended up with a gelatinous goo mound. I took said goo mound and tried to apply it to a beautiful matte print. I don't know the result of that experiment but I'm not too optimistic. The earlier project with caulk has much more potential. All in all, a good day.
In what may be the most interesting news of September, Wallace finds himself motivated, irrational, level-headed, and myriad conflicting, non-conflicting adjectives. He's somewhat smug and pleased. Things lacking from his usual repertoire. 3.4 hours of troubleshooting a CSS padding issue dealing with the newer release of Firefox, and the "a-ha" 1.4 second moment of discovery pleased him to no end. One part for others, one part for himself. Small things like this have been building up, and exploding in azure-sky non-fireworks.
Every time Wallace blinks it seems as though he falls into a dream. The blinks are no longer than usual, but the majesty and wonder of the moments is elongated into a symphony of hope. Perhaps soon he won't have to sleep.

