If I do not wake up, that is not the end of Guillermo.

I would make an excellent doorstop. Or speedbump. Or even a bobsled, if properly preserved.

Gurgsled?

Sorry to wander along a morbid winter Olympic tangent. Not terribly sorry, but it certainly isn't what I logged on to do.

I've moved my computer from my bedroom into the computer alcove of the house. My pc is now neighbor to a Macintosh and they have been getting along very well. NPR streams while I play a videogame or two and all is perfect with the world.

The digital world. The visceral, blood-and-guts, wild carbon molecule organic chemistry world I still spend the majority of my time in is vastly uncertain. If I have an energy meter, it would undoubtedly be flashing a warning.

My computer is farther away now, so I function as less than a cyborg. Cause I have been. Since reading Neuromancer (intriguing but I am in no hurry to read it again) I often refer to being "plugged in." In this case, I mean plugged into internet access. You can also be plugged into anything that grants you information that cannot be accessed by the casual observer; something you've spent time working your way into. Networking, in any network. Music, news, oncology. Whatever brings you closest to the raw data that you, a biased entity, then process and disseminate to others that aren't "plugged in.".

Whatever that means.

I meant to be poetic. But it's hard to be poetic and still hide what you're feeling so I've snuggled into semantics like a lonely spinster grammarian.

I should sleep again. My dreams don't make sense either, but at least they can be chased away by the buzz of my alarm clock.