Asshole bastard motherfucker net-vandals have decyphered how to spam trackbacks, wanting to advertize poker. Or maybe that's a front; seems an awful lot of trouble to get people to play your version of Texas Hold'em online. Well, it is the new American obsession. On the other hand, it could be an identity theft scam.
Other than that, people are milling about El Rio after dollar drink night, so I won't get to sleep yet. It's a weekly ritual to overhear 10 to 50 boozy conversations on Mondays.
For my part, I'm feeling pretty good. Joe's giving me a little padding time in the apartment so I can pack and plan in a more leisurely fashion.
I'm starting to think things might work out yet. I'm starting to feel my cultural sense returning; the tingling tickle of creativity on the rise. I've got plenty of stabs to make. Hunter didn't get on the trail of the Hells Angels until he was 27 -- and then it was another year before anything Really Big was published. There's time.
You see, in this country we creative types are conditioned a bit to expect (or shoot for) some kind of great success pretty early on. It can feel like a dissapointment when you're 25 and you feel you haven't "made it." Of course, that's just our great cult of youth at work. In reality, very few people amount to much at a tender age, and many of those who do are warped by their success. My own ambition is far to weak and diffused to give me anything more than the occasional throb of worry over missing some kind of boat. Truth is, I don't see anyone doing something Big that I feel I could have done, so I'm not really worried about it. My day will come, or else I'll just be happy and productive. Either way, I'm on a decient trajectory.