Blargh

For reason or reasons not fully known to me, Sunday nights are the worst. I've enjoyed my regular routine of sandwiches and computer-building talk, then retired for the afternoon to play Lolo on the NES and enjoy my newly-infused lavender Earl Grey Goose in shot and White Russian forms.

I've done a ton of laundry today, and now I sit, with an alcohol flush to my skin, enjoying the slow steady breeze of the ceiling fan while Monk and Stef watch some new-fangled episode of Doctor Who downstairs. I hear the most recent series is quite good.

As Dr. Horrible would sing, "Whatever."

This weekend has been one whose purpose is to remind me that the opposite of love is not hate, but rather indifference, something that I have accomplished in some ways and still deeply wish to master completely.