Poor J- not only is she staying in my crack shack, but also it appears that she will be stuck inside the crack shack for much of the weekend. Because, the rain? It will not stop.
In other news, I'm so underwhelmed by Lost. Typical J.J formula- create characters you really like and then proceed with Operation Character Assassination when you've sucked all the viewers in. What kind of con artist is Sawyer that he can get hustled by Jack of Blah? How many body parts will Locke have to lose before he loses his gullibility? Why does no one care that Michael & Walt are chilling with Los Otros? And where, FTLOG, is Mister Eko? I mean, if you are going to ruin the show, can you at least appeal to my shallow side by letting me listen to Mister Eko's voice for a few, precious minutes? Maybe when Alias comes back, J.J will make Spydaddy a stay-at-home dad who really enjoys gardening.
Sadly, I have nothing besides that unintelligible babble to write. I lack both the time and the technique. There is something I want to write about mitochondria, but I will not do it justice now. So it will wait, in the pile of things that have still to be done. I miss the feeling- I seem to recall having it at one point- of feeling like I could go to bed with the sense that the next day would be a new start. These days, I fall asleep after forcing myself to push away the neverending list, and wake up with the list pushing its way right back, reminding me of something that must not be neglected. If only I felt that way about this blog, you might have had something vaguely coherent to read.
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