Just when you sit down to write an extended story, life starts to interrupt, tossing hurdles at you mid-stride. Randomly un-random houseguests sleeping on your sofa. Lies, deceit, and transparent head-games whip together in a pasta salad full of intrigue. It all sounds wonderfully cryptic, doesn't it?
I'm sitting here typing this entry on a keyboard that thousands of other grimy fingers have touched. I have access to neither spell check, nor disinfectant, so if I am felled by linguistic contortions or hepatitis, the cause of either will not be in doubt.
My regular internet connection at home has been severed for unexplained reasons. The DirectTV has also failed under similar circumstances.
While losing the DirectTV is a nuisance, it is also the fifth time since I've moved in that it's happened. I'm a bit used to it by now, but losing the internet complicates my apartment search.
