Thursday, November 3, 2005

Last night, as I began clacking away at my keyboard, a sharp sense of nausea overcame me. I’m not precisely sure where vomiting fits in the broad continuum of writing–those college courses are blurry, though that may just be an early onset of glaucoma–but the implications are tentatively negative. Claiming this episode was psychosomatic is not a territory I wish to visit, yet there are questions that need airing. Is it time for us to take a break? Is it time to stop completely?

It’s been a shitty week, so I’ll attribute some of it to that. The weather’s been depressing. Work has been stressful, a fact intensified by the alarming amount of printer toner fumes I’ve been inhaling. This is not the type of problem helped by an office window that cannot open. Yes, there is an initial buzz, which I have reason to believe is really the gyrations of dying brain cells, but there is also concern that toner is not exactly the substance of happy hour.

There was also the dual misfortune of buying Revenge of the Sith and watching it. I ask for your forgiveness. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe it was a sense of duty, I can’t say. There were at least half a dozen times when I groaned inappropriately. It’s the dialogue, it really is. Epic space battle is not the best medium for horrifically crafted banter. Dramatic “love” sequences also shouldn’t be galactically cringeworthy, right? After the seventh strained exchange it’s like, “In the name of midi-chlorians, wrap your lips around a lightsaber and hit the button. Please.”

But it’s the very first point that bears repeating. Weather. Perhaps we’ll get around to discussing it tomorrow, if I don’t forget.