Just before we enter a tunnel

She stands in front of the kitchen stove and sips her Nescafe, steam rising from the large cup. The cup has a drawing of the Moomin cartoon characters on it. She doesn't say anything, and neither do I.

Right. Obviously, Haruki Murakami loves me. Otherwise, that wouldn't be in there.

Tonight, at just around midnight, I finished the writing assignment that's been hanging over my head for the last month and emailed it off. Just a night of writing, that's all it took. Of course, it'll probably get chewed up and spat out in a spitty wad when we look at it in class, but that's as it should be. And that's the last journalistic style boobah we have to write. From here on in, it's all airy fairy autobiographical murmurings and personal essays about dragons. THAT'S RIGHT.

The chai tea latte I had at 3:00pm, um, yesterday, has got me up, up, and away. Still! Those things is powerful magic. I've read, played Resi', made pasta, and read while I ate pasta, all while the family is asleep like babes. It's been kind of nice, yeah, but what will I do tomorrow when I'm all snarlish and slowgy? Sleep? Probably. Here's a sentence in red. I like that. Vancouver magazine is shouting at me about winning wines to buy now! But if I won wine, why buy it now? I don't even like wine. I've woken Happy and naturally she's licking the couch. Not much fear of dawn breaking, these days. I'm going to go read about cats and libraries. Thanks.