And it's 3,2,1...

It's amazing the kind of junk you can accumulate in your brief lifespan. It's equal parts cathartic and horrifying to sort through the rubbish that shores up on the fringe of daily life. Why didn't anyone stop me?

sigh

We're officially counting down now. Three days.

Home, boys, Home

well the good news (broadly speaking) is I made it back. Nothing exploded, no luggage was lost and I was not forced to kill any airline personnel although I was sorely tempted. No matter how many times you look at the little screen a set of charcoal pencils will never be dynamite. Never.

There's this sort of ecstatic high that comes from being back in your own stomping grounds, no matter how great the trip was. The sense of your place in the universe asserts itself and for a moment you can appreciate the harmony of the pattern which you were so determined to break from.

Alert the press! I'm back.