Archive for the ‘Nonclassified Nonsense’ Category

I’m really not much of one for thinking up subjects.

The box in which one types this says “Entry (This will go down on your permanent record)” Ooooh.. My permanent record. When I was much younger, I was lead to believe there was this “permanent record” on which all ones transgressions were reported. It never bothered me that there didn’t seem to be any such authority to keep track of such a record. The concept was frightening enough.

This was, of course, before I got old enough to care about things like civil liberties, and that such a permanent record would surely be in violation of them.

Much like Lowe’s tried to violate them today. I needed some CAT-V cable, and I wandered around Lowe’s not remembering quite where such things were stored. A very old man came up to me and asked if he could help me find something. I told him what I was looking for, and it turns out I had walked right past it. I was in the electrical section, and I was admiring the cable which was large enough it looked like it could carry all of the current to power a neighborhood. Or three. It probably was, but then I got carried away realizing how small it actually was in comparison to large transmission lines.

They sold CAT-V by the foot, and it appeared they had two different sorts. They were listed as “plenum” and “non-plenum”. One, of course, was substantially more expensive than the other. 19 cents a foot instead of 9 cents a foot or some such. The only thing that plenum conjured up in my brain is an evaluation of different sorts of intake manifolds.. The sort of intake manifold one finds in the good old cars from the good old days. A very large one which sits on top of 8 cylinders and supports a carburetor in a fasion not unlike a pedastel. Anyway, a plenum type manifold has a thin peice of metal which separates the manifold into different sections not far from where the carburetor joins. I’ve never really understood the point in a plenum even though I read a bit on the subject back when I drove a good old car. Some people seemed to think they were good things. Other people suggested filing them down. Others suggested removing them entirely. The intake on my car had one, and I figured that if Eidelbroch though it was a good idea, that he knew more about it than I, and I’d leave it alone.

Anyway, I imagined a thin sheet of metal dividing the twisted pairs in my cat-v briefly, then examined the two cables. One seemed to be a slightly different shade of blue than the other.

So I asked the rather old guy what the difference was, though not expecting much of an answer. He answered “Well, this one’s yur plenum. If yur gunna put it in yur livin room, you don’t need a conduit with the plenum. IF there’s a fire, and you got yur non-plenum, you’ll die from the vapors if you don’t have a conduit…” he went on for awhile, and nothing he said made any sense. In my mind, there’s cat-v. If it’s rated as such, it’ll do the job. There exterior and interior grade, and I can understand that okay. I picked the cheaper one, wondering what Eidelbroch would have picked.

He took the box of cable up to a little table with contraptions on it. He fed the cable through a tube and started winding a crank. A neat looking cable odometer starting counting. He wound until it read the request 100 feet I’d asked for. He cut the cable and wrapped it in electrical tape, then scribbled on a label and stuck it on the cable.

When I got to the check-out counter, the guy there seemed utterly unsure of what to do with either the cable or the sheets of metal I’d selected (in hopes to fix the armrest on the Exploder). After getting a manager who tried to explain it to him, he took me credit card and asked for my ID.

Which isn’t all that bad, but I found it rather frustrating as it was yet another step for them to go through, and was taking much longer for me to get my things.

And then Lowes, in typical capitalistic fashion, violated my rights. My god-given (well.. maybe not god-given) right to be free of unreasonable searches. I mean, there’s not a lot that I feel like I’ve got to be proud of in this country. And the bill of rights was a really bad idea, but I figured that I should at LEAST be granted the rights that someone decided specify a couple hundred years ago, even if that specification ran the risk of depriving me of other rights… The very polite woman a the door insisted upon searching me. And then comparing the results of her search with my receipt.

I never used to understand why this drove my father nuts, but I can understand now, the fuss he always made about it. If we don’t stand up for our rights at the beginnings of infringement, what will happen when it gets really important?

Our country is full of contradictions, and of late, I’ve been rather disgusted by them. This is a country where we seem to take so much pride in our “rights”, but here the very “right” to capitalism which we as Americans think is so important, leads directly to infringement of a much more important right, I think, our right to be free of unreasonable searches. It wasn’t my government searching me, it was LOWES… I got infuriated thinking about it as I was driving the exploder home. I essentially PAID them to search me.

Anyway, I’ll be shopping at Home Depot next time…

So I woke up rather late today, not feeling so great. A bit light in the head. I feel like I’m getting an inner ear infection… We’ll see what I feel like tomorrow.

I took a shower quite quickly and managed to get myself in the exploder fast enough to get to the mailbox by 1330. Since there was, in all likelihood a check in the mail for Dad that needed to be deposited, I needed to get that done by 1400. Not much of a problem, really. Sure enough, there were several envelopes that appeared to contain checks. I’m not sure why these envelopes are plainly different from the ones that contain bills, but I’ve yet to get it wrong. I tossed them on the floor of the exploder, and started driving to the bank, when I realized I didn’t have a deposit slip. Not much of a problem, I could always ask them for one… Except that I had NO IDEA what dad’s account number was. And, I didn’t know for sure if they’d give it to me. So rather than chancing it, I decided to go get the deposit slip, because I knew I’d still have enough time to get to the bank before 1400.

Fine, until I climbed out of the explorer and walked to the front door, and reached my hand in my pocket, and then the other. And then sighed and walked back to the exploder. Not finding my keys there either, I cursed. Then I thought about possible methods of entry to my house. Only possibly non-destructive one I could come up with was climbing a wall to the window I might have left open. Climbing at least 10 feet seemed unlikely and even more unlikely that I could accomplish such a task in time to get to the bank by 1400. So, back to the mailbox where I must have left my keys. Probably hanging out of the mailbox–I’d done that before. Never got farther than the door of my car before because the keys are all on one ring. But since I was driving the Exploder (because the front side of the Miata’s engine is in pieces) my keys were not tied to my current method of transportation.

I walked in, and my box was closed and locked. “Marrion, have you seen my keys?” She looked at me strangely, and said “Uhh.. no… you drove away, so didn’t you have them?”

“No, this isn’t my car…”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been in the big red thing instead of the small red thing.”

“yeah, rub it in, why don’t you.”

“Don’t like it?”

“No.”

“Guess it doesn’t go zoom-zoom,” she empathized. I sighed, thanked her, and left wondering if she knew my car was a mazda and associated it with the current mazda “zoom-zoom” ad campaign (which, by the way, I don’t much like), and decided that she had not, and it was a fitting coincidence. If you look for something, you’ll find it. Whether it’s there or not.

I subjected the passenger side floorboard to a detailed search, and finally found my keys under the passenger seat. I growled, and by now it was nearly 1400. I sighed, and realized there was no chance I was going to make the deposit on time.

I got home and desired to check my email. Since my bad IBM drive had finally munched through enough data that windows wouldn’t stay booted (immediate blue screen in kernel32.dll, never a good sign), that I would need to coerce linux into doing my bidding. A working (more or less) linux installation was sitting on a SCSI drive which was unaffected by the recent demise of my RAID array. After watching reassuring boot-up, I tried to configure my system to talk to Dad’s. Dad’s now possessed the DSL modem, as I hadn’t another win2k box to put it on. Dad’s system seemed quite unwilling to be a server, though it did relay a few pings, which was thoughtful of it.

Surprisngly enough, my wanna be router (linux box with lots of NICs) was graced by Dad’s computer forwarding just about anythign it wanted. So I climbed the many steps and cursed at Dad’s computer. (It helps… Me, not it)

After several trips up and down the stairs I finally realized that Dad’s computer was actually operating the firewall software I’d installed on it, even though the GUI for the service wasn’t active. So, after firing it up, and adding my system’s new IP to it’s list of acceptable associations, everything worked just fine.

I then convinced K-mail that talking to bellsouth was okay, and it provided me with 120 or so messages. The joys of mailing lists.

At least on my outlook express set up, the mailing list mail gets nicely sorted into appropriate folders so I need not manually sort through it in order to get to the important stuff. And, it’s much easier to read miata mailing list messages separate from Linux-ATM-development mailing list messages. It’s very frustrating for my brain when I read “Lately, I’ve noticed this smell of antifreeze after a hard run…” followed by, “I too have had problems with pppd, but under linux-2.4.15-pre2 with the following error codes, thanks to my serial console…” followed by, “I think my crank angle sensor is leaking oil…”

Among all this email, I found one from Dan Pedroza at Mazda South, with a subject of “Eeek!” I know what it was about, and was hopping it wouldn’t be there. Mazda South is a friendly Mazda dealter in Austin, TX from whom I order parts. They’ve been good to me, and I feel better about giving them my money than the local grubby dealers. (a visit to a local dealer involves a long, messy drive, followed by messy parking, and endless waiting in line to be told they don’t have the part, but can order it sometime next month if i’m nice and pay them $860.43 for the heck of it) Dan at Mazda South is typically there when I call, and gets my parts out to me soon, and usually the amount I save from buying from him makes up for shipping cost, and I don’t have to pay tax.

Anyway, I knew what it was about because my bank account currently has $6.21 in it, and I was hoping that ammount included my order from Dan, which I’d placed on Friday. (It seems the parts took awhile to get to dan, and since he hadn’t shipped them, he hadn’t billed my account yet.) So I tried to call him, but he wasn’t at his desk, and so I left a message with someone. Figures. And, since I was late with the deposit, who knows when Dad will be able to give me a little more money…

A few moments later the phone rang. I picked it up, expecting Dan. But it was Dad instead. “Was there any money in the mail?”

“Umm.. Yeah.. but.. the deposit didn’t go in for today.”

“Shit.”

“Sorry.”

“Okay…” (followed by a sigh).

I called Dan back a half hour later, and he’d already left for the day.

I’ve spent most of the day fighting with linux. KDE takes forever to compile, and it’s quite frustrating to be waiting for a compile only to have it terminate because it’s misisng a library, and then you download the library, and then it won’t compile…. Remind me again why I want to be a geek?

Note: The following entry and many following have been transferred from a Slashdot Journal. I figure I may as well put all journalish things in one place.

Thought I’d play with this. Maybe if I like it, I’ll even type at it with some dilligence. Unlikely.

Keeping a journal would tend to indicate that I do something worth journaling. In fact, in this case, it’s probably just the opposite. I’ve got lots of free time. Well, all my time is free. In the since that it’s mine. Not in the since that I’m bored, and desperately looking for things to do. But I, and my time, are, for the most part, free. I wonder if all those commas are legal.

Dad’s started a list of things for me to do when I get a chance, which is, I suppose, quite fair considering I don’t pay rent. On the list so far is:

* Rug Spots
* Deck
* Detail Explorer
* Put Tires on Toyota
* Fix Armrest

So, I did the first two things on the list. At least, I assume I did. “Rug Spots” probably indicated he wanted me to remove spots from the carpet, which I did. At least, if he wanted me to spot a rug, or carpet the cat, I misinterpreted. In addition, I cleaned off the deck, threw away all the dead annuals and gave the frog a bath.

I got invited to go on a Deal’s Gap run this coming weekend. Don’t think I’ll be able to attend, as my car won’t be fixed until then. This is a shame, I think a run at the gap might make me feel good.

A few more pictures online on my new attempt at a webserver. Not sure why I’m feeling this urge to start keeping something of a presence on the web, but why not…

I made dinner tonight… Meatloaf and mashed potatoes. It was okay, especially considering Dad was late, and I had to keep it warm in the oven for about an hour.

The bugs produce a ghastly, comforting sound that forces its way into my window, merging with the sounds of a ball bearing being hurled from one side to the other of a can of paint. The scruffy looking guy who lives next to my acquaintances is attempting to cover something hanging on his porch with a can of paint. I didn’t feel inclined to study the object in question long enough to identify it, for doing so might have inadvertadently made the man feel like he should be “friendly” and engage me in pointless trifling conversation. He, like most every one who lives near me is, I’m sure, incapable of conversation that I would find enjoyable. Occasionally when bullied into a conversation with some of them, I’ll remain in a state of observance for some eternity while my mouth responds without the aide of my brain on questions regarding the state of the weather and condition of the roads, though it doesn’t actually, that’s merely a phrase I’ve rather liked, stolen from Jane Austin in a somewhat indirect manner as I’ve never bothered to read anything she’s written. At some point, perhaps, the condition of the roads was as inspiring a conversation as the current state of the weather, but unless one is traveling, such a conversation is generally too penetrating to engage in, and the weather is left as the primary focus of those conversations where at least one, if not both parties, are uninterested in such conversation but feel that the other expects such an attempt.

I’d just returned from a rather exhilarating drive on this, one of our first summer nights. Despite it not being summer, Texas has only a few kinds of nights, and both spring and autumnal nights are rare. Tonight was only barely a summer night, there was still something crisp about the air swirling around the cockpit of my car at speed.

After taking a bath this afternoon, I collapsed on my bed with a terrible headache, awaiting the dulling powers of the little blue elliptical drugs I’d swallowed a few moments before. Not long thereafter the sounds of the birds chirping and kids playing lulled me to sleep. . . I awoke at six o’clock, reflecting that it was Sunday and that if I wanted to watch the television programmers which I occasionally enjoyed on the Christian Sabbath, my stubbornness would require that I wandered downstairs to the apartment of my acquaintances. I had finally gotten Peter to take the television out of the living room and into his room as he is perpetually watching it and I cannot tolerate the sounds of a television for very long. In doing so, I remarked that if I never saw another television show, I would not feel cheated in the least. This is true, but had the television still been in the living room I probably would have switched it on at 8pm. It was not, and so I wondered if Todd was home, and if so, if he’d eaten anything, and if not, if he’d be interested in going out to acquire victuals. Almost simultaneously, I realized that it was in fact not six pm, but that thanks to been Franklin’s annoying idea of shifting time around at this time of year, the society in which I live had pronounced the time as 7pm. I then thought about arguing with them and persisting in living in standard time. Measuring time is a somewhat restricting notion which though occasionally convenient, generally irks me. To make matters worse, we not only insist upon measuring time, but do it on a ridiculous scale based on 60 which is not a natural scale for anyone but the Sumerians who were obviously confused. Perhaps they had 60 digits on their hands. Even worse, twice a year, we’ve decided for no good reason to manipulate our manner of counting time. In any case, the television companies generally agree with society (or ARE society–i suppose the distinction is semantic) and as such, Todd would be sitting on a couch with a guitar in his hand engrossed in the Simpson’s, as is his way.

I fiddled with my computer, got it to set it’s clock precisely to the naval observatory clock in Colorado while compensating for time zones. I then reset my watch to match.

I had an odd taste in my mouth, and desired a Dr. Pepper, but there wasn’t any in my abode. I wondered once again whether the odd taste was a result of having been sick, or the antibiotics, or some combination of the two. I decided to go buy some, but as I headed toward my car, I realized that I didn’t want to go to the hell that is the Albertson’s near my apartment. It smells bad. I walked by Todd’s apartment on my way to my car, and noticed through the glass door that he was indeed on the couch with a guitar, but an acquaintance of his I detest was sitting on his couch. I kept walking and neither of them noticed me pass. I started driving north. I’m not sure why, but ever since I learned to drive, whenever I wanted to drive, I would head north. Usually because the southern side of any city I’ve been in tends to be inhabited by those with less money and the streets have more traffic lights, and my little car is out of place. I hate traversing poor areas of town in a shiny red car, as though I’m parading my wealth. Plus, overall, I desire to be further north than I am now. I’m not sure if I would like the north better if I grew up there, but as it is, I don’t much like the south. It has a depressing quality to me. I find heat oppressive and restricting. There is something liberating about cool, crisp air. Even if I like sweet tea.

As I headed north, near the area where I work, the places to spend money looked more clean, had brick facades… The cars tend to have upside down peace signs and pinwheels. I reflected that I would get a chicken sandwich and dr. pepper at chic-fil-a, but before I got there, I remembered that they pride themselves in their Christian orientation and close shop on Sundays. I continued north and saw Jason’s Deli, and it caught my fancy. I got the same thing I’ve always gotten there since I first saw a Jason’s Deli 6 years ago. I returned to my car and it had finally gotten dark, and the air had cooled off a bit more. I then thought I should probably get some dr. pepper from the store in can format so I’d be less tempted to spend money at restaurants. The first store I came across in that area (with which I’m not too familiar) was a Kroger. It was a very nice looking Kroger, complete with brick facade. I wandered in and looked at the shoppers. Female, mostly. Everyone I encountered was attractive, and I wondered if attractiveness was in some way related to the acquisition of money. Most everyone was young as well, young married couples, a few with young children. My car was parked between two German automobiles. I wandered about the isles and eventually found the Dr. Pepper. $7.98 for a 24 can pack. I sighed in disgust, and was somehow amazed that people will pay such a premium on clean floors in their grocery store. I headed a little farther north and found and Albertson’s, it too had a brick facade. Unlike any other Albertson’s I’d been in, this one was complete with a Starbuck’s coffee sign. I looked at it, remembered that I didn’t like Starbucks, so I sneered at it. I wondered why I didn’t like Starbucks, and couldn’t exactly remember. Something to do with being a large corporation with little interest in the human condition. This Albertson’s was a veritable paradise in comparison to the one I generally shop in. It smelled nice. The floors were clean. Everything was nicely arranged. The employees didn’t stink. I found the Dr. Pepper, it was on sale for $3.99 for a 24 can pack. I put one in each hand, paid for them, and filled the trunk of my car with them. As I started driving off, I decided that I’d like to see a movie. There was something forbidden about watching a movie on Sunday night, it seemed, and something odd about seeing a movie alone. I wondered why, because there is little one does during the watching of a movie in terms of interaction with another person. Something about the shared experience that made it worth while, something that makes us human. I headed even farther north to the movie theater I like and walked in. It was mostly empty, and a decent looking movie was showing in 2 minutes, at 7:15, according to the board outside. I walked in and the woman at the counter informed me that the time was 8:15. I looked at my watch and decided that it was, in fact, 7:15 and this woman had reset her watch twice. She insisted that the time had changed and that I hadn’t reset my watch. I sighed and told her I had. I had, really, I thought I had. But then, upon thinking about, I realized that she was right, because I left my house not long after 7, had since gotten dinner and dr. pepper, so there was no way it could be 7:15. I decided once again that maybe I really would boycott daylight savings time.

I’m resurrecting my Europe list. In my usual fashion, there is no special occasion or otherwise suitable reason for me to do so. It certainly isn’t because of a hearty pagan solstice celebration mutated by Christians however many hundreds of years ago. It’s not because I’m twenty years old now, which doesn’t seem terribly special to me, other than the thought that the wake of time known as my teenage years cannot be much altered by any direct action on my part-their mutations depend on the lens of memory, as corrupt as it is. It’s certainly not because I’m in Europe, or even traveling. I’m existing, though for what purpose or with what goals I’m not sure. Nor am I writing because my muse has started talking to me as she is, I fear, blowing in the wind, and rather uninterested in me at the moment. No, I’m writing simply because of my egotistical nature, and even that has gotten to be a bit much for me lately.

I’ve been working for UPS in some strange effort to become self-sufficient. I have decided that working for a living is not enjoyable. At least not doing physical labor for UPS. My job consists of riding in the brown truck on the jump seat, from which my mother is worried I shall fall because of the consistently wide apertures in the truck on either side of its occupants. I’ve discovered that UPS drivers leave the doors open for a zillion reasons, the most important of which seem to be visibility and time saving.

My driver’s name is pronounced, “Jerrahldoe”, but I have no idea how he spells it. He is Mexican. I cannot think of an adjective to describe him better. He’s so Mexican, I’ve taken to poking fun of him about it, which he doesn’t seem to mind. He insists that all the rich women we deliver packages to only yell “Thank you, Merry Christmas!” at me because I’m white and wearing a UPS uniform. He reflected that while even he, a Mexican, gained some respectability in a UPS uniform, the effect was much more pronounced on me. Perhaps.

I don’t much like my uniform. It’s also a crappy uniform, all the drivers have decent stuff. My pants are the right size in the waist but too long. They gave me a short-sleeve shirt, despite the fact that it’s really cold here. The “jacket” they gave me is a joke. It’s a long-sleeved unlined, thin, pull-over thing. It is not at all a nice thick warm UPS jacket all the drivers get. I didn’t even get a hat.

The job is hard work. Yesterday I worked 11.5 hours. UPS is not, I don’t think, aware of the Texas workforce commission and its various regulations regarding giving us breaks, a LUNCH break, etc. If I don’t get overtime pay, I will complain loudly. They owe me overtime for everything over 5 hours because I’m part time. We’ll see if they pay up.

I don’t think the $8.50/hr they’re paying me is quite worth the amount of work this job is. I was prepared for hard work, but not constant running. I’m required to RUN from the truck to the door, deliver a package, and RUN back. Just try that for 11 hours. If I were an athlete, or even remotely in shape, it would be one thing. I’m neither.

I worked 5 hours on Monday, and it was hard, but not too bad. We delivered packages at 180 stops. Don Defazzio, my driver’s and my supervisor, is not a nice person. He told us we should be able to deliver 60 stops an hour with two of us. We barely managed 40, and there wasn’t much way we could do any better. This incurred the wrath of Don, which is not a good thing. It didn’t much bother me, I was doing what I could do, and if that wasn’t good enough for him, screw him. Geraldo gets very upset when yelled at by Don, and I’m not sure why. It’s not like Don will fire him, or even suspend him from being a driver for the amount of time it takes him to deliver stuff. I suppose I’m just not one to cower under “authority”. Don told me to meet Geraldo at noon, but I never managed to find out where by the time both Don and Geraldo dissappeared somewhere in the huge mess that is the “hub” in Dallas. Thousands of UPS package cars and the huge semi trucks, or “feeders” that shovel stuff from not too distant areas and from DFW swarm about the hub. I’ve never seen such a huge operation. Endless mazes of roads, huge buildings, conveyor belts, rollers, moving cages, etc to move packages from one area to the next. The hub is most active after about 7pm until about 10am in the morning, though there’s stuff going on there all the time, thousands of people doing this and that with packages. It’s amazing that it works at all. Anyway, I didn’t know where they went so I went home. Don woke me up at 8:15AM, and asked if I could be at the hub in a half hour. “Uh, sure,” I told him, trying to figure out who I was talking to, where I was going, what a hub was, who I was, etc… The usual things that cloud my brain in the morning.

UPS employees like Christmas even less than I do. And people like me who never liked Christmas to begin with, REALLY don’t like it at UPS. Christmas, and our society’s obsession with buying and sending each other things on ONE day of the year, is what allowed me to get a job at UPS.

The neighborhood Geraldo and I have been assigned to for this week, or rather, the four streets that we’ve been assigned to is one of the richest areas of Dallas. Enormous houses on postage-stamp sized pieces of property. On Wednesday we delivered 459 packages at 328 stops. All on a mere 4 streets.

Most of the packages we delivered came from Amazon.com. Amazon boxes are easy to spot, and so I noticed that probably half of our packages came from Amazon. I wouldn’t be surprised if they actually turn a sales-based profit this year, with all the stuff I delivered. I delivered endless numbers of moo-cow gateway boxes, bland “Dell” boxes, and most of all smoked turkeys from Tyler, TX. Everybody with that amount of money, is apparently entitled to a turkey or two or three from SOMEONE.

I miss the days of answering the door and finding smoked turkeys or Omaha steaks on the doorstep. It’s a funny manner of growing up where instead of finding them on the doorstep, I find myself delivering them. It’s enough to get me thinking.

I started counting people driving on our streets with cell phones in their ears, but that was too difficult, and switched to counting people who were driving WITHOUT cell phones in their ears. So many people who answered the door were talking to someone on a phone of some sort. The yuppie mobiles abound. I don’t think I saw a single “affordable” car in the neighborhood. Porsches, Mercedes, BMW, Lexi… Anything that says, “Money!”

Seeing the money through Geraldo’s eyes is even more fascinating. I’ve tried to teach him the word, “yuppie” but I’m not sure he understands. He once pointed at a house with a wreath on the door, “2408, the one with the round shit on the door,” he told me. I was too tired to laugh.

Every door step seemed to be littered with kid’s scooters. These two-wheel contraptions are apparently all the rage now. I guess they’re skateboards for the uncoordinated. Skateboards with a steering rod is what they look like. I’m sure any kids who didn’t already have them are getting them for Christmas.

I worked 9 hours on Tuesday. About halfway through it, I slipped on a sidewalk and fell, hurting my ankle and hip. The sidewalk was iced. I’m not sure why, it was at least 65 degrees outside, I don’t know HOW it got iced. Might have had something to do with a SPRINKLER SYSTEM.

It didn’t hurt too bad until yesterday morning. Yesterday morning I felt really bad. Geraldo called me at 7:30, and told me to head down to the hub by quarter to nine. I did, and didn’t get back to my car until 8:30pm. By that time I could barely walk, much less run, and I hurt absolutely everywhere.

I was forced to tell him that I couldn’t come in this morning. I felt really bad for him, but there was just no way for me to do it, I hurt too much. I feel as though I’ve failed, and it’s frustrating, because it’s not out of laziness, simply that my body won’t do what I’m trying to make it. That’s annoying. I hope I feel better tomorrow, because he’s going to be swamped otherwise. I’m tired of typing now, hope you all are doing well…