Oh, god. So here I am. Here it is. I’m sitting in my room which is, for the love of all that’s holy, filled with more shit than any one person –one or more—could ever need in their lives. And it’s T-minus 4 days and 8 hrs. until I take off for the Continent…what am I thinking? I’d be in bed right now—I’m brushed, scrubbed, moisturized, de-contacted, and basically ready to sleep—except that I got everyone’s favorite new toy in the world, my laptop…relaxing, wishing for that ergonomic chair that has made my room and life a cluttered hell for the past 5 years except that right when I need it it unaccountably disappears, listening to jazz, basking in the glow of my bamboo tea lights--I feel like a real person, like an actual adult, typing away at my very own personal laptop that I can do anything with. I hope, anyway.

So here it is, what every writer dreams of, my own opportunity to experiment with stream of consciousness, dipping and diving in and out of real time and my own intermittent trackings off the path of reality. For example, I’m going to tell you right now that I have fleas in my room and it’s so infuriating because there’s really nothing that can be done about them…the minute they’re gotten rid of my cat brings them right back in, but she’s so old and drooly that there’s no way to seriously keep her out, the poor old thing…and that had nothing to do with my trip to Europe and yet (potentially) you all read it. I don’t even have to care that you read it. I can just publish my own words for free, thinking that everyone will read them. Ambitious. Naïve, to say the least. Downright egomaniacal. By the way, there’s only one person responsible for this nonsensical running log (“blog” just sounds too techie for me, I’m going to stick with log, and does anyone else notice that “techie” is not considered a misspelled word under the auspices of the Microsoft Word system…this says something to me.) I won’t share any information about that person, but he’s the reason why no one is getting genuine emails and everyone’s responsible for tracking me on the internet like some errant hang-glider on the Navy’s great radar screen of life.

So in a few minutes I’ll be gone, I just had to start the journal to get it out of my system. The WVU/ Virginia Tech game is on Wednesday and I’ll be there to support my team, and the various distributors of fine alcoholic beverages. Then the day after that I’ll be recouping, and on Friday morning, too bright and early for anyone, I’ll be off and away to England where (presumably) I’m being met by The Goalie. The Comrade and I have had a hell of a time trying to organize this trip, primarily because we seem to have serious problems communicating. I love her dearly but sometimes I think we just aren’t on the same plane. So, like, a week in Amsterdam is supposed to help this fact, right?

This is so wicked cool…