Well, I've had my morning "Will I find a job?" freak-out and I'm ready to get back to working on papers. Yesterday I watched Twelve O'Clock High and The Tuskegee Airmen back to back and took a bunch of notes. Hopefully I'll get eight pages written today.

It's hard to believe that I'll be in Ottawa in a week and a half. As slowly as January and February passed, March and April have whizzed right by.

I got a bunch more writing done last night. I think I'm worming my way back into a groove.

So it looks like a transit strike is immanent, which would really put a kink into library work. I don't know how I'd get to campus. I suppose I might have to ask Jay to drop me off at insanely early times before he heads to work. But hopefully things will get resolved and it won't come to that.

I finished transcribing the Coupland interview. I'm heading to campus today to write at least the bulk of it. As much research as I need to pull in for it, it's also heavily narrativized, so it should be fun to write. I sent him a few of the pictures I took and he responded with a nice email saying he hoped to see me many more times in the future.

I need to track down a copy of Twelve O'Clock High for my Race and Cinema essay. I'm abandoning the structure I had in place for it and doing two sets of comparisons, one on Twelve O'Clock High and The Tuskegee Airmen, the other on Stalag 17 and Hart's War. I'm going to take a look at the generic changes that occur in a WWII film when a plot concerning race is grafted on to the narrative.

I got some more writing done last night. I don't want to jinx it, but hopefully this marks the start of a new routine.

I got through an hour of the interview yesterday in about 5-6 hours. I'm hoping to have it fully transcribed by the end of the day. Tomorrow I'll start making daily trips to campus so that I can study and start putting in some real essay time. I should portion out the work I do each day the way I did with the papers I had to write last week. Thank goodness classes are over.

I got some writing done last night. I felt the need to before I went to bed. It's encouraging. I'm trying to have more faith in my ideas and explore them a bit more. I don't know what will come of it, but the main thing is I'm getting it done.

Here's a bit of advice from the man:

Scenes just tend to burn themselves out. The art scene here in Vancouver was fantastic until the year before Expo, and then Expo came in and hired everyone up. And what happens, and this is true for any art form but really for writing and visual art, is the moment you get a day job to pay for the weekends, you never go back. No one ever goes back. Ever. It’s kind of like this decision. I saw that really young, and I really made a vow to stick with it. And I learned that by the time you’re 30, if you’re still doing what you’re doing, two things happen, maybe three: All your competition falls away. Suddenly, you’re doing it, and there’s no more competition. You submit something and great, you’re in. That’s because if you’re doing it at 30 people realize you’ve stuck with it and that you’re committed to it. And the people who weren’t committed to it have fallen off. They’re now doing corporate brochures or working on whatever, the Bingo newsletter. That’s the magic year. Stick to it until 30. You’ve got two more years to go.

This was part of a response to a question about art communities. I didn't even tell him I was a writer.

I'm excited for Ottawa.

Happy Valentine's Day. I'm celebrating it by having no classes for the next twelve days. Though I might get right into some light work just so I don't have to worry about it later. In any event, I can exhale a little. I'm going to see Andrea on Monday. It's going to be a great week.

I was up really late last night talking with Esther and reading old Livejournal entries. I've decided to sit down and chronicle the year I spent living at the Party Flat. The journals I kept are sporadic and I feel as though I'm still carrying some baggage from that time that I need to come to terms with. It won't be anything I'll post online, but I am looking forward to finally setting down some thoughts I've had about that period that have been on my mind since I moved out. I want to use it as an excuse to flex my narrative muscle a bit, since it's kind of been buried under mundane details of assignments and such lately. Quite honestly, though, I'm impressed that I've been so devoted to this blog. I've written in it almost every day since I moved to Toronto. As much as I think my writing has been flagging, it's the most devoted I've ever been to a diary. So much so that I see the year before as a gap that needs to be filled more completely.

I've signed papers for a place in Ottawa come May 1st. I'm moving in with Ash and Ian. Ash's roommate is subletting for the summer, so I'll be able to get myself a foothold to find a job and ultimately my own place come September. I'll save a bit of money in the process, too.

Yesterday I watched Jezebel. Bette Davis was gorgeous and not a bad actress at all. Henry Fonda played a really stiff part and I couldn't get over how young he looked. The film was Warner's Gone With the Wind, but obviously paled in comparison to the production value of that film. Dyer had some interesting things to say about how whiteness is presented in the film while comparing it with Night of the Living Dead thirty years later. It seems like a stretch, but I found the argument compelling.

I ended up writing a page before I went to Robarts. The journal I was looking for wasn't there, only a book shaped hole where it should have been. After bumming around the library for a bit I went to see The Savages, which was absolutely amazing.

I went home and pretty much went straight to bed. My trip to Europe has been playing tricks on my internal clock. I woke up at 8 AM with little trouble and set to work on the last three pages of my paper. I'm currently a conclusion away from finishing it. Then I can start a NEW semester.

I used a portion of my time in the library to work out my schedule. I have three classes on Tuesday and one on Wednesday. I kind of like that arrangement, although I'm sure it will be hell for my procrastinating nature.

I sat down and hand-wrote some prose yesterday. First time in forever I've done that.

Today I found out that I didn't get that government position in the policy leader program, whatever that is. After yesterday's obsession with after-school career plans it made me panic and do superficial searches for jobs, browse college programs and think about taking French courses. After awhile I calmed down a bit. My brain is so fucking active sometimes it makes me dizzy. I want to do everything all the time, and while that can be a good thing for creative output, it can also frighten me into not doing anything or doing things poorly.

One thing at a time. School is my priority now. I have, however, decided not to apply for a CCA grant for Ottawa Art Bazaar funding. I don't think my "organization" qualifies anyway, since calling it an artist collective would be a stretch and would require me to seek out detailed member profiles from at least three people (at most the "collective" consists of two - myself and Kat). We're just not grown up enough to count yet.

My goal right now is to get my Master's degree. After that, I'll move back to Ottawa and figure out what I'm getting myself into. I might not stay in the city depending on the kind of work I find or what I become involved in. I do know there are a few things I want to accomplish artistically there, along with people I want to work with and get to know better.

I spent the day in front of the TV. I did write a poem, however, and I think I'm coming to realize why I more or less stopped writing after I finished my undergraduate degree: I don't spend as much time with writers. People who write inspire me to write. The story I wrote last month was prompted only by requests from Cameron and Peter. I need that sort of direction to sustain my output. Otherwise, I grow bored of my ideas and think that they're too dull or meaningless to write out. I need someone there to DEMAND meaning from me, either directly or by virtue of their own work.

I met up with the folks in my Bibliography group to discuss the annotation assignment and had one of those moments in which I felt completely outclassed intelligence wise. The people I go to school with are so smart. It's going to force me to work that much harder, in the long run. Afterwards I swung by HMV to pick up the new Buck 65 album, and while I was there I grabbed The Truman Show and Shaun of the Dead for cheap.

When I got home I dialed up Andrea and we talked on the phone for about three hours. I hadn't heard her voice since September and it made me feel as though a bird were alive in my chest. Conveniently enough she received the package I sent her ON her birthday, so that worked out nicely. Despite the fact that we talk almost everyday there are certain things that need to be said in person when the opportunity is given. 57 days and I'm Berlin-bound.

I watched Spielberg's adaptation of War of the Worlds, which had great visuals but lacked a bit in the arenas of character and plot. Still, it has scenes that are humbling in their realization - mob rule in the streets, a train passing while completely aflame, and the first appearance of the alien crafts in particular. I'd say it's worth checking out.

After the movie I finished off my latest short story (title: "To Become Immortal, and Then Die") and submitted it to the In/Words crew. I tried getting down to business with a reading, but kept getting sucked into this debate with some people on Facebook about racism. I'm considering it good exercise for my African-Canadian Lit class. Grad school involves a whole new level of rationalization when it comes to goofing off.

I read a fascinating article by George P. Landow today on the implications of hypertext on electronic publishing - a refreshing change after slogging through Kristeva and Greene. It seems to me that the difference between the reader of a physical text and the reader of a virtual one is activity - to use Landow's language, the hypertext reader is active. He/she is able to engage with the text on levels that far surpass in interactivity their engagement with a physical text, via numerous practices of linking. However, it's up to the reader to take advantage of these practices.

Vannevar Bush came up with the idea for the Memex system and predicted the existence of Wikipedia over sixty years ago: "wholly new forms of encyclopedias will appear, ready-made with a mesh of associative trails running through them, ready to be dropped into the memex and there amplified." I find the idea of the dynamic online text very interesting. When I ask people about reading books on their computers, the answer is always similar: they'd rather hold a book in their hands. I think what they're really talking about is more associative. People spend hours at their computers every day: reading, making trails, absorbing information. But when it comes to the idea of reading a novel, they dissociate it from the computer, itself a signifier of open-ended information, a wellspring far too large and seemingly infinite to comprehend actually finishing a text. When we read online, we do so to learn, which is a continual process. We don't regard a novel in such a way. A novel is physically finite and armed with a beginning that proceeds to an end, regardless of our poststructural interpretations.

I have a feeling that this society will evolve to become increasingly active in their engagement with texts of all sorts. Landow makes the argument that books presented the same kind of technological impact when the printing press made documents available on a mass scale, and hypertext is no different. Eventually we're going to see texts existing in a completely dynamic state. There will be no such thing as a novel without visual and theoretical aid, without the option to access parallel studies, contexts and critical opinions including those of our own. We'll be able to build bridges between all texts and immerse literature so far into the intertextual that the notion of authority will completely break apart. The implications are astounding. It's just a matter of how it will be marketed.

I bought a copy of Beetlejuice at the grocery store today and watched it along with some X-Files over dinner. I'm almost finished with Season 2 and it's featured half of the members of Hard Core Logo in roles (half the fun of watching a US series filmed up north are the familiar faces that pop up). I also finished putting together Andrea's present, but given that she reads this page I won't divulge its contents (patience cookie).

Bywords sent me a check for a poem of mine they published in their Quarterly Journal. It's the first time I've ever made money off of my writing. $5. I'm thinking I might frame it.

I'm getting kind of Dietrich'd out, and I think I'm doing a little too much research for a 15 minute presentation, but it should be ready to go on Tuesday.

I got to talk with Andrea for the first time in over a week today. I really miss her terribly. Tomorrow I'm picking up my passport, and that will bring me one step closer to Germany. Time seems to be passing slowly for me this month. I've only been in school for six weeks or so, but it feels like a hell of a lot more time has passed.

I went out to pick up some clothes today. It was gorgeous outside. The sun was shining and I didn't need a hoodie. I bought a nice suit jacket and shirt, plus a new pair of pants and a tie. I left most of my ties in Peterborough during the move. I haven't worn a suit in weeks and when you wear one at least once every couple of weeks for two years you get to feeling like kind of a slob. Hopefully I'll get some use out of this one.

I wrote more of that story I'm working on for In/Words. I should be able to finish it in one more sitting. It will feel good to have a piece of prose done.

Wicked. The Q&A went down tonight. I asked Wes and Jason about the occupations of a couple of characters in The Darjeeling Limited. Wes mentioned that Owen Wilson's character was the owner of a fledgling electronics company. Jason said that there were a lot of ideas and bits for back story floating around while they were writing the script, and although those elements didn't make it into the film itself, it dictated the way the characters acted and responded to one another. Wes told him that was more of a response than an answer. I flipped Jason the thumbs up and got one back. Wicked.

After the Q&A the two hung around for a bit. I was too shy to ask Jason for a photo, but I was able to snap the shot above. He was really nice about signing autographs and joked with everyone. All in all a very cool experience.


I sat beside a guy who wrote for IGN FilmForce. We chatted a bit about Orson Welles and he told me about trying to make his way into the television industry. Seemed like a nice enough dude.

I talked with Professor Columpar about my Dietrich presentation next week, so I now have a better idea of what to focus on. I'm a third of the way through Dietrich's biography, Blue Angel. Man oh man, did she sleep with a lot of folks. Scandalous. Tomorrow I'll watch her in The Blue Angel and take care of my Bibliography readings. I also rented a copy of Godard's Breathless, which for some ungodly reason I haven't yet seen; I need some inspiration for a piece I'm sending off to In/Words. One of the characters is a French New Wave anachronism who believes the only way to truly appreciate art is to despise most of it.

I wasn't feeling quite like myself today. I skipped my African-Canadian Literature class in order to regroup a little bit. I feel like it's time to make a few resolutions.

I'm going to start working a bit harder at school. I'm going to involve myself more with the readings and prepare myself with talking points for classes. Tomorrow I'm going to spend a few hours in the library to work on some readings and assignments.

I also want to start eating better. I feel like my diet is making me lazy, lumpy and tired. I made Tomato Eggplant Mozarella Stacks for dinner tonight (wild).

Finally, I need to pick up my writing. I did about 800 words today. That makes a few thousand since I moved here. A promising start, but I'd like to add many more. If I'm going to sit around, I'm going to sit around doing something.

I just wrote about 800 words towards a story I'd put on the shelf. I feel as though I've got a character in it that will keep pulling my interest back. At this point the whole thing is a hodgepodge of 12,500 words that I've been writing over time, bits and pieces begging for a common plot. Perhaps it IS there, somewhere.

My Touch of Evil presentation went beyond swimmingly; Professor Columpar cited it as an example to follow for the rest of the semester. High praise. I missed the feeling of getting things out of the way. At least I know I'm still capable of pulling it off after a year without school.

I accomplished what is probably my quickest reading of a text in my entire university career today. "Angélique" by Lorena Gale had been all but impossible to track down for this week's African-Canadian Lit class, but I found a copy at around 12:30, took it home and had it read by 3 (granted, it was only a 70-page play. But I had it read in time, dammit). I also borrowed my first book from Robarts today, a biography of Marlene Dietrich. One more step towards being a fully functioning student.

I'm going to get as much of this passport stuff taken care of as I can this week. It's a fairly involved process. You'd think I was adopting a kid. I have weighing against me the fact that I don't have a guarantor, so I need to fill out an additional form that I have to pick up at the passport office. On the bright side, it'll get me close to the Eaton's Centre. I'm going to need a camera case if I'm going to take some pictures of Nuit Blanche this weekend.

It's been a long day and I didn't get much sleep last night. Ain't university grand?

I went a little nuts tonight and wrote an ode, but not before reading some John Keats and Pablo Neruda. I'm going to look at it in the morning and wonder what the hell I was thinking. But at least it's something.

WHAT I'M IN FOR (PART FOUR)

Bibliography is the study of research methodology. Solves that little mystery. Really, it's just a course that teaches the latest research methods, proper citation, and, yes, bibliography preparation. We spent our first class in a computer lab in the EJ Pratt Library going over journal databases. In fact, we'll be spending most of our classes in libraries all over the campus, including the Robertson Davies Library in Massey Hall, where we'll be privy to seeing a relic of a printing press at work.

I was feeling like a shut-in last night (being indoors for almost two straight days will do that). I ended up spending a lot of time outside today, walking around the campus looking for book stores, and it helped my constitution as much as it put a hurt into my feet. I ended up walking down College and up Bathurst, and I stopped in at Honest Ed's discount store, which to be honest I found unsettling. I took a look at some information about Ed Mirvish online, and the man was a god in Toronto until he died about two months ago. He did a lot to help out the city's artists. His store, however, looked like a Dollarama blown freakishly out of proportion and my prolonged search for the exit left me feeling, ironically, a little claustrophobic. I also, for one reason or another, take issue with a business that insinuates so forcefully that it's "honest" (yet another item in a growing list of incriminating factors revealing that I am not, and probably never will be, a true Torontonian).

I made some yummy chicken salad pita sandwiches for dinner and watched The Wizard with Jay, which is essentially an hour-and-a-half-long commercial for the Nintendo Entertainment System with a little family drama thrown in. Nevertheless, it was a movie from my youth that I was incredibly stoked over at the time. "I love the Power Glove. It's so bad." Truer words were never uttered on celluloid.

Jay showed me how to rip Touch of Evil, so I should be able to grab a couple of clips this weekend. He's going down to Buffalo tomorrow to buy an iPhone. I'll be going over my grant and catching up on readings. But mark my words - I'll be getting out of this place on a more regular basis come October.

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up and call Arts Court in Ottawa. I'm going to do my best to get a straight answer from them regarding how they'll be involved in the grant process. I've been talking with my friend Maegen, who has thus far been an incredible help, providing me with information on the right people to talk to and the right steps to take in order to ensure success. But it's time to make Arts Court take appropriate notice of this.

I have a bunch of questions written out that I'm prepared to ask. After I get the information I need, I'll start working on the written application, which looks as if it will take some time to complete. I have two weeks. If I'm successful with this grant and the other two for which I'm applying, I could conceivably, in a best case scenario, put on three art festivals a year and make a living at it. Not only that, but everyone helping out would get paid. It's going to take some work, but if I'm finally able to do what I want to do, it's going to be worth it.

As for school, I spent a lot of the day catching up on Touch of Evil Project readings, as writer after writer dissects Orson Welles' vision. I'll probably skip the screening tomorrow, as I have the film on DVD already.

I wrote about 200 more words today.

I have "Regret" by New Order in my head. There's a real sense of melancholy to that song I don't hear very often.

There's a panoramic shot of the CN Tower from my balcony, taken on the new camera (click for a bigger version).

I devoted as much of today as I could handle to Opera readings, and I'll have most of them finished by the time I go to bed. This interdisciplinary approach to the subject matter is throwing me for a bit of a loop. One of the readings was comprised mostly of music scores to illustrate its thesis regarding the impact of shifts in musical structure on the dramatic whole of an Orpheus production. I kind of understand what it's getting at, but it was clearly written for students of music. The stuff on the interaction between libretto writers and composers is more my speed. There's certainly an element of competition in place when deciding which discipline is best to get at the dramatic core of a production.

I watched Citizen Kane in the spirit of my Orson Welles class. I always forget how absolutely perfect it is. Not a bad performance, none of the dialogue is gratuitous, it looks gorgeous, and it uses incredibly poetic metaphor.

For dinner tonight, I chanced a recipe for baked penne pasta with Italian sausage. Really delicious but really heavy. Here's a picture:


Cameras are fun.

I talked with Andrea a bit today. She's found a place to live, so it's a load off both our minds. I'm proud of her for being as determined as she is.

Finally, I got some more writing done, about 200 words. Still pretty dark in tone, but at least I'm getting used to writing on emotional impulse again. I missed the weight it lifts. Like successfully detoxing.

I was watching Star Wars (that's Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope for anyone born after 1989) today. It's a movie I've seen many times, and I couldn't really provide you with a cohesive description of its plot, but that makes it great for repeat viewings. I paid close attention this time around to the final assault on the Death Star, and finally understood that one of the pilots who accompanies Luke is an old friend of his from Tatooine. He's one of the last three pilots including Luke, and he's the last member of the Rebellion to bite it in the film. The other pilot is of course Wedge, who is in all three films and delivers an ass-whooping time and again WITHOUT the Force and really without assistance from anyone. He evens saves Luke's ass in the final assault, when Luke's old "buddy" is SUPPOSED to, but is nowhere to be found. Now, Wedge is hit by enemy fire and has to pull out of the trench. But he's the only member of the Rebellion besides Luke, Han and Chewie to survive the attack. So why isn't he at the fucking awards ceremony with the others when the film comes to a close? What, they couldn't have moved one of the extras they hired as a token elder senator out of the frame to clear a space? I mean, it's not like he even had to walk IN with the main characters. Lucas could have placed him already standing off to the side, with a tinier, SILVER medal, just to show that he'd already been honoured for his dedication. Bottom line, Wedge saved Luke's ASS, and that grand hall would be a floating assemblage of Yavin IV bits and pieces complete with digitally added explosion halo if it weren't for him. Respect Wedge.

Anyway, I've obviously been taking it easy today. I picked up some more clothing at the Village, and started into the meat and potatoes of Whylah Falls, which is incredibly beautiful, reading as if Ondaatje had written James Baldwin in stanzas. I'm nearly halfway through Generica as well, and it's holding my interest. I also listened to the latest SModcast, continued my online Scrabble losing streak, and watched some first season X-Files (some of those really early episodes are painful to sit through; as big of a fan as I was of the show, it really didn't hit its stride until a few seasons in).

I picked up tickets to see the Hives next month, and I'm taking Matt as his birthday present. Toronto has far too many good shows going on at the same time. It's completely overwhelming. I'm almost thankful that most of the shows are out of my price range (I'm not paying $37.50 to see the Kaiser Chiefs unless they somehow morph into Catherine Wheel partway through their set).

And I started writing again, a story I had only begun scratching at a couple of weeks ago. I had an idea, opened up Word, wrote it down until it was fleshed out enough, saved it and closed it up. 333 words without driving myself crazy. It's a good sign, and I wager last night's ramble definitely helped.

I feel, somehow, as though floodgates are about to open.

When I read, I am overcome with emotion and thought. Reading ignites ideas, little bits of fire grow wings, more often than not sputtering and fluttering out after I've had a chance to calm down, to leave the idea behind and let it walk on its own. I'll read a paragraph and I'll have the most enormous inclination to write the perfect sidekick, an inspired companion to the lines I'm mowing through. I read something set in an office, and it convinces me with the force of God dictating to Adam that I should add a chapter onto whatever I've cooked up and set it in an office. Add a couple of Canadian tropes, twist it with a little magic realism and VOILA! But then I stop reading. More often than not, the fire goes out, the wings cease to beat, the idea can't walk on its own.

But sometimes... once in awhile, the idea sticks. There's a purity in it that I can sense. I carry this idea around with me, adding accouterments, shaping it in my brain, sometimes for years at a time. I become obsessed with it. I start to value it as one would value a childhood love. It becomes something almost physically attached to my body - a wrinkle, a rib, an unsettling click in a joint. And then... I can't write it down.

I'll mention what I know for certain. I never felt more alive as a writer than I was as recently as a couple of years back, when I was printing out my own chapbooks fairly regularly for about a year and a half. I don't know if anyone read them, if they retained any of the information, but it felt as though I was saying things that needed to be said. Lately I've been wondering if it was simply a youthful idealism on my part to think that I was being unique in my output, that I was writing worthwhile material that would impact some loosely defined world of readers and critics and artists. But none of that matters.

In the five chapbooks I wrote alone (Heartsex, Joel, The Scene, Kitsch, and Puget Sound) I wrote about love, sex, art, coincidence, accidents, apocalypse, dreams, idol worship, memory, music, alcohol... and God. Last night I tried communicating to Andrea how writing about God was really the only thing that kept drawing me back to the craft (I probably failed miserably, looking too much like a Modernist and coming off as a little crazy). But it's true, and I didn't really recognize it until I tried explaining it. To use your classic neoliberal preface, I'm not a religious person, but I see God at work in everyday life. Nothing provokes my curiosity more than the existence of God, despite the fact that I've developed an outwardly calm veneer on the matter, as opposed to my younger, more adamantly existential self. On the flip side (?), I believe in the existence of beauty as truth. What's in front of us - our loved ones, that pencil on your desk, is enough to bring spiritual satisfaction, simply by its being there for us to engage, regardless of the presence of God.

These are the two most pointed conclusions I have to come to regarding my writing - first, is the notion of God still important to me, and secondly, whether or not I can still find beauty in an agnostic world. If the answers to either of these is no, I won't be able to write any longer. I just won't. It won't work. Thankfully, I don't think that will happen.

-

Position is where you
put it, where it is,
did you, for example, that

large tank there, silvered,
with the white church along-
side, lift

all that, to what
purpose? How
heavy the slow

world is with
everything put
in place. Some

man walks by, a
car beside him on
the dropped

road, a leaf of
yellow color is
going to

fall. It
all drops into
place. My

face is heavy
with the sight. I can
feel my eye breaking.

- Robert Creeley, The Window

-

On another note, things happened today:

I saw Andrea off at the bus terminal. Through the haze of being awake at 8:30 I still felt like crying. She leaves for Germany in a week. We kissed long and hard and squeezed hands.

I had to go to my MA orientation almost immediately afterwards. While waiting in the Sanford Fleming building, Jonathan Abresch sidled up to me. We graduated Carleton at the same time and are now entering our graduate studies, though with very different priorities. He's pretty heavy into the Medieval side of things, whereas I'm going as interdisciplinary and contemporary as I can. It was good to see him. The meeting was your average hodgepodge of vagueness, but everyone who spoke seemed genuinely approachable. Some folks from echolocation also took the floor, inviting students to their first meeting of the year, which I am looking forward to and will most certainly attend.

I went home and slept for what turned into a couple of hours, then slouched back to campus for my meeting with MA program Associate Director Sara Salih, which went swimmingly. I'm going to stick around Toronto until Friday so that I can take a tour of the library. I've been in Robarts a handful of times now and I still haven't seen a book.

I spent the rest of the evening reading, letting the floodgates open. Read the ten-year anniversary intro to Whylah Falls (complete with Discography. That's what I like to see). Hopefully I'll be spending the next couple of days effectively organizing what remains of my free time. It's a commodity I will soon miss.