Man, it’s hard getting back into a daily rhythm right now. It’s been a weird couple weeks- a brief detour into a day job, the near-ending of the book, international travel.

I’m a little intimidated by it all, especially given that I’m due to have a whole lot less direction once I write the next four thousand words of the book. I feel like I run the risk of repeating myself soon, if I haven’t already started. Before long this’ll turn into a weird collection of half-assed fan-fiction about Barack Obama, Devin Hester, and Nick Cave all suddenly awakening on the island from lost…

And Jesus, who wouldn’t want to read that? I’d be Internet-famous in no time if I kept that up. You’d have Ben, Jack, and Locke all trying to maintain their own factions on the island while Obama keeps inspiring the Others; Nick Cave makes all of the men on the island look like children when compared to his mighty facial hair, forcing them to question both their own sexuality and their ability to keep the attention of the women; for the season finale, there’s an electromagnetic rocket launched with less than a minute to detonation at the camp on the beach, and Devin Hester picks it up and has to run it halfway across the island before it goes off. Hell, if you think the ratings are hot now, wait till I join the writing staff. si se puede! You get Obama and Hurley sitting down on the beach playing Connect Four with wood chips and the Senator’s dispatching of heartfelt advice and even the hardest-dying Republicans will pull the lever for the man come November.

And so much for that. What the hell am I talking about? I can only hope that the book I’ve spent the last year and a half writing isn’t this incoherent. Y’all don’t really like me when I make sense, do you? That’s not what you sign up for. You sign up for the swearing. With that in mind, what the fuck is up with Kosovo, am I right? Golly!

Yeah, it’s one of those days. I’m still not entirely sure I’ve had an actual conversation with anyone today, and the pages and pages of writing I did this afternoon have actually done nothing in terms of giving me anything to say. Kat had school today, and she’s not feeling well, so there haven’t been any bold and brilliant exchanges of ideas between the two of us this evening, and while I did spend about fifteen minutes talking to our flatmate, it was mostly to the purpose of giving her a chance to practice her English while she insisted that I eat portions of her dinner, which always makes me feel a little bit weird.

What else is there? Apparently I should refrain from talking about movies, because nobody else believes that Will Ferrell could have delivered a brilliant performance if cast as Daniel Plainview in there will be blood. Which is weird, when you get right down to it- I mean, Daniel Day Lewis even does the Ron Burgundy accent from anchorman throughout, and the script echoes the i don’t think anyone knows what san diego means bit, almost to the line, after the little kid goes deaf. Can Will Ferrell be terrifying? That’s a better question, but I think that he has it in him. Nobody believed that Bill Murray could be heartbreaking, and look how that worked out. And it’s Paul Thomas Anderson, no less- the man who gave Adam Sandler his first dramatic role. I’m tempted to believe that the only reason Will Ferrell isn’t in that movie is because he was busy filming semi-pro instead.

So instead I’ll ramble for a few minutes, talk some nonsense, and then sneak out the side door before I creep y’all out utterly. Wish me luck- this threatens to be a rough week.