digitaldiscipline ◾ ◾ Where'd it go?

I am, apparently, wind-powered (not, as is widely believed, simply full of hot air). Despite a spate of mild warmth on

cyberpunk yesterday, the nascent productivity on the fiction front (or, more accurately, a quintet of them) has utterly dissipated, and seems to have taken my ability to focus, see clearly, or even remain fully conscious, with it.

Can't sleep at my desk, clowns will eat me.
Can't sleep at my desk, clowns will eat me.
Can't sleep at my desk, clowns will eat me.

I'm casting a baleful glance at Jeanne for being a flighty, spastic nutjob of a weather system. Karl seems to be bent on imposing communism on the mid-Atlantic ridge. Lisa, the next multiple-of-three storm (who, much like Charley and Ivan, has a few non-meteorological connotations in my life) is looking to be the weak sister between Karl and what may become Matthew. Meh.

Still contemplating the merits of penning a halloween story where the denoument involves beer and a bad joke.

[Updated to add: angel_renewed just called. From the Bacardi factory. I believe my first words after, "Yo, what's up?" were "Fuck" and "You." ;-) ]