this is just to say

Richard left the house with my computer at around 3pm today. It's 5:10 now and I'm already brainsick with missing it. I know it's for the best and everything. My computer is old and needs to be looked over and made good again. One day, maybe in a year or two, my computer will have hit its ceiling for hard drive replacements and ram stuffinages (new word, good) and I'll buy a new computer, because Richard will tell me to, and which one to buy.

Computers are hard. Not like napping. I always thought I'd love to have a laptop I could use in bed, but the warmth coming off this thing is putting me to sleep. When will I have my computer back? I don't quite know. Maybe tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow. Not tonight.

You're fascinated by this.

Last night there was drinking had (by others and myself) in my living room, and many napkins were torn into pieces and twisted into sperm darts. This morning I emptied a glass of leftover Guinness and soggy, swollen, discoloured sperms into the garbage and thought about birth control.

I don't say sperm. I say sperms. This is because in high school, grade nine, a potential first boyfriend told me a joke over the phone. D: "I walked to school today and saw something white, what do you think it was?" Me: "What?" D: "It was SPERMS." (here follows raucous laughter, not mine) Only later did the humour inherent in David's joke occur to me. Like, it was sperms.

Originally there was a Die Hard 4/dinner happening tonight, but it's unfortunately been canceled, so instead I'll do some napping. I need to catch up on that. There have been a lot of late nights, lately. Late/ly.

But. Wait. I wouldn't be thinking about napping at all if it wasn't for this damn toasty notebook. It's the computer equivalent of a sleeping Hobbes. Now I yawn.

Nothing else, much.