What does one do when he has all the work in the world and no time to do any of it? The answer, it naturally follows, is sit on one's ass and abuse random substances. This is not a direct representation of my life, far from it - after spending half an hour schooling the chicago white boys in the finer arts of electronic soccer, I've moved on to more noble pursuits - I sit trying to pull my latest blog entry from my ass, to inflict it on my semi-tolerant audiences while dreaming of the cigarettes that are now in my pocket.

I've signed up for a quit smoking class; it promises to be interesting; I've always wanted to be in a peer support group, rallying against the evils of nicotine or some other random poision. I've only gone for the orientation so far, but I'm fairly optimistic about my chances of giving up the cigarettes eventually.

What else is there to write about? I picked up the phone today and made the inevitable call. It went well, I suppose; what is there to expect from these things? I'm not supposed to be feeling this way, I'm sure - but then again, things get too complicated too fast, and what are we to do? It is all ridiculous. Perhaps I should just cop out and insert some of my pre-written verse; it's not very good, though, so maybe I won't.

I'm obviously rambling; this is enough.