Not that I actually got caught up with work, but I have taken the past three days totally off from work.  I can feel it itching at me, tickling, making me want to check my email.  I haven't, not yet.

No, instead I've been playing Rock Band incessantly.  So much so that I've got a huge knot behind my right shoulder blade and a smaller one in my right inner thigh.  Apparently I don't use that muscle much.  As I jam out on the drum set that isn't really making all those noises, I easily trip off in fantasic fantasies about how fabulous I really am.  It's a nice, easy way for me to decide I'm cool enough.

Sometimes I'm not sure where my mind goes as I play.  Plenty of my head is focused on the colored blips sliding down at me.  Every time I finish a song I turn to the coffee table to my right and my right shoulder fierces up in to a nugget of pain.

I didn't go to any services this weekend, for the first time in I don't know how long.  Somehow I feel ... like I'm in trouble.  I said prayers this morning.  And I can say them before I go to bed.  I've been doing that a lot lately.  For the last two or three weeks I've been saying prayers before bed, going through all the tunes I know in the WHC prayerbook, doing the weekday evening parts.  I really really love to belt out the Hatzi Kaddish.  Maybe that'll appease the great Sephardi Queen in the Sky.  <grin>

I walk around my apartment, and Milkshake follows me, occasionally throwing herself on her back and flipping around.  Of course I notice -- that's what I'm supposed to do.  I bend over and scritchle her tummy and back as she continues dancing on her back.  I say weird things in weird voices.  "Oh yeah?  Like this?  Like this?"  I tug her back leg and she lunges at me with a wide open mouth, purring loudly.  I hope this is fun.

Laundry sits in a mountain on my sofa.  I pick at it sometimes, folding sometimes, sometimes just putting stuff on standing there.  I should be praciticing my Hebrew.  Instead I'm banging the hell out of these drums.

I spent about twelve hours at Wunderland, between staying for an ultra-late poker tournament --which I won -- and going back Friday night.  I walked into that poker game with not one but two $5 IOU's in Andy's cash drawer.  I won the big pot of $25 and walked home with $15.  Not too bad.  Lucky at cards, unlucky at love they say.  I said well, that about says it.

Time to pound a drum.  When my arm finally gives out, I'll put in a movie, watch the OS/OSU game that is taping.  (Don't tell me!)  Or something.  Maybe read.  I still read... usually on the john, but I do read.

Hey Jenn, d'you mind if I read your one-act on the crapper?  Hmmmm.