Janel's Place

Sittin here in my cell, no windows, just a rattling fan and Nora Jones when I remember to hit play on the CD player again. What a life. Seriously, this is the pits. Ironic to be studying synaptic depression. I went out to Silvermine for a sub and curled up in Wired Bean to eat it and escape in a book for 15 min. Wired Bean has a selection of books for the sad cases that wander in without one... a biography about Rudy Galindo, Time of War Time of Peace by Sen. MacGovern, Jurassic Park, a bunch of novels... I picked the MacGovern book and read a bit of history about the Cuban missile crisis. Appropriate I guess on the ann. of Pres. Kennedy's assassination... there have been lots of discussions on the radio about that whole mystery. Pretty messed up. Anyway, MacGovern thinks we're spending too much on the military, at least that's what I gathered to chapter 2 when I had to put it back on the shelf and come back here. Well, first I visited Charlie the bearded dragon to see if he had enough food. A couple dozen of his crickets drowned, but there are more under his rocks so he should be good for a couple more days. That reminds me of the cute rat babies (the other pets of Charlie's mom), Amelia, Spaz and Leia. They are so darn cute, and I've started up another international relationship between my big fat Frisky pig and the rats. This morning the girls and Uncle Frisky were all crowded into Frisky's pigloo. Sooooo cute! I should be home staring at rats instead of this forsaken place writing a progress report. Maybe I will go home. I think I have all the figures done, I just need to discuss the stuff which will mainly be a long diatribe about a bunch of weird experiments and how I actually don't know what to do next or what to think about what I have. This is why committees were invented, to give me a break from banging my head on the wall and let them prove why they have PhDs and I do not.

Aye I'm getting a backache hunched over this computer. I can't believe this world is spinning and it's so quiet and stable in here. That ought to be enough proof to the average homosapien that there is more to life than meets the eye. Oh sadness, I need to work on this report some more.
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I do not like progress reports Sam I am.
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The Fly
William Blake

Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
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This is really fun to stare at.
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