AHHHHHHHHH...

It is like having a new computer. The screen, which was cracked and suffering nontransparent brown-black spider slashes across the top and the bottom and somewhat diagonally down from right to left, is fixed. It cost a buck and a quarter, but it is definitely worth it. It had gotten to the point where I didn't even want to crack (no pun intended) the fucking thing. It was too much of a melancholy practice. ("Pwactice?! I know I'm supposed to be the leader of this team and I give my heart and soul during the game, but...but what are we talkin' about? Pwactice?!" Allen Iverson, circa 2006.)

Yes, it sucked to look upon the tragedy of the cracked laptop...when I happened to have it to myself. (I'm faaaaar too passive-aggressive when it comes to using my personal personal computer, the one that I bought for myself to use exclusively. I feel that I, when come off as a selfish prick when I say to whoever is using it, "Hey, I want to use my laptop. I don't know when I'll be off of it. My muse has trouble speaking up sometimes. Sometimes, it takes a while for her to talk to me." My muse is often silenced by my disinclination to speak up; she is damned-near cut off at the knees.)

Hell, it's a work in progress.

(You can see that I haven't been on here for a long while--the writing is stacatto, jumbled and jumpy. Meh, it is what it is.)

Here's something you don't see every day: On Friday, my partner and I were heading back to the headquarters when we came up to a construction zone. We saw red-and-blue bubbles up ahead at the intersection. "Uh-oh," she said, "looks like someone got popped." I nodded. As I trundled slowly past the orange barrels and past the crews laying and smoothing the cement, the scenario revealed itself: Some lady, older it seemed (I don't really know how old because the whole time we were stopped at the light, her face was turned to the empty passenger seat, and she was seeming to get something out of her purse--long time looking) some lady had driven her red Cadillac smack dab into a freshly-laid road-square of cement. And by "freshly-laid," I mean, like, laid an hour or two before. All four tires of her Caddy were sunk midway into the cement and some had splashed up on her quarter panels. That, uh, that would...suck. Not only the damge to the car and its tires, but, come on, the embarrasment of being stuck in virgin cement, while a lane of traffic has nothing else to do but slowly inch past, the great majority of the drivers muttering something along the lines of "you stupid ass," "nice going," or, my favorite, "where'd you get your license? a Cracker Jack box?" Eeeeesh. That airplane commercial comes to mind: Wanna get away?

And the lady says, "Hell, yes, please...please?!"

Well, as Phil Collins said before, "Hello, I must be going." Hi. Bye. It's good to be back. Maybe I'll post more of these thing-a-majigs. Meagan and I have Bad Lieutenant with Nic Cage. I've read good things about it. Hopefully it stands up to the talk.

Peef ow.