Called her phone just out of curiosity—can’t find her cell number in my in-box, of course I lost it with all her voice mails. Her machine answered—can’t believe how hard my heart was beating… even on mute with *67.

I’ll figure something out

I always do

I guess that’s what it comes down to. On any given day I’d rather be posting to reddit about Dominican baseball or trying to write a letter in Latin than looking for work.

Listened to this TAL and didn’t want to break down crying in the parking lot and now I’ve got a headache.

“The days are long but the years are short” has never seemed truer.

Like of Montreal’s line, “just slept way too much.” The idea is that I want to throw myself into something to forget/not think about it. But I can’t throw myself into anything, can never reach a state of flow because of constantly intruding depressive thoughts.

I just want to lie down and sleep so they go away.

Last week, after being so caught up in the run-up to Christmas, and being so proud of myself for actually having money for gifts this year and having my shit together, I lost all my voicemails, including all the saved ones from ariadnæ. Gutted.

current mood:

I don’t know how long I thought they’d wait… Actually, no, knowing ariadnæ I guess I thought it would be months, if not years… but it was probably already months in the making

How many should’ve-been-work days have I dedicated to instructing this slut or waiting on her e-mails?

She replied. Can’t believe how hard my heart’s pounding.

It’s probably perfect/not good that I spent all night reading S’enfuir while waiting for ariadnæ to (not) reply.

La tortuguita and ariadnæ are over me. I’m just not over them.

Hell, even la doctora has found she has better ways to spend her time.

Backwards narrative

After ariadnæ told me they were looking at places, I told her, “Fine, just go be happy and leave Me alone,” and she hung up.

Death of Expertise in Fantasyland

• The Death of Expertise
• How America Lost Its Mind

La nenita me dijo que quiere acostarse con él. Me enfadé, le dije que I needed a break and dejé de responder por un rato. Luego volví y descubrí que me había bloqueado y había borrado todos sus mensajes de ese día.

Andaba bien deprimido y hasta me costó seguir la trama de “Blade Runner” –casi no quería irme pero fue la última oportunidad de verla en Dolby Cinema. Voy a visitarle –la he extrañado tanto, tanto.

Ayer me sentía muy solo y entré el chat para distraerme un poco mientras trabajaba. No podía trabajar mucho… y terminé charlando toda la tarde con otra little (tuve que esforzarme para no decirle “nenita” varias veces) de Chihuahua. Ups.

Google in particular has come close to realizing our nightmare scenario from 1998, a vertically integrated Internet controlled by a single monopoly player. Google runs its own physical network, builds phone handsets, develops a laptop and phone operating system, makes the world’s most widely-used browser, runs a private DNS system, PKI certificate authority, has photographed nearly all the public spaces in the world, and stores much of the world’s email.

But because it is run by more sympathetic founders than Bill Gates, because it builds better software than early Microsoft did, and because it built up a lot of social capital during its early “don't be evil” period, we’ve given it a pass.

—Maciej Cegłowski, “Notes from an Emergency”

Ironic disclaimer: Blogger and YouTube are owned by Google, and they now have records of you reading this entry and seeing the embedded video above.

An excellent piece on digital rights, dissemination and attribution in the 21st century.

Yet another therria dream… I’d really thought I was done with those. Fell asleep thinking about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and she popped up (not, like, as a bit character). Oh, and I guess I was thinking about her yesterday, too. How good the lovemaking was.

Shit, even as a Pearl Jam fan, this is dangerously accurate

[I]n stepped good old Eddie Vedder [in the early ’90s] with his puppy dog eyes and progressive stance on abortion, and taught a nation of hairy jockish apes how to project a modest amount of guitar-based masculinity while also faking enough idiotic brooding sensitivity to convince young women… [A]ll of a sudden there was a new way to act if the average American John Q. Nobody wanted any chance of copulating with a female. Grunge was off and running. It was a pretty sucky time.