December 29, 1999.

Two days ago I realized that a) I have one hell of a lot of data stored on this leaky little cyber ship, and b) my computer is not Y2Kompatible. Not by a long shot. Luckily, our nice new CD writer makes jobs like this a breeze! Now I'm Y2K AOK. Yay!

(And I'm sure that as you're using pointy sticks to drive your loved ones away from the toilet paper, it'll give you great comfort to know that all these wonderful files are safely backed up.)

As an added bonus, I've discovered some amusing anonymous poetry stored deep within my uncomplaining hard drive. I dimly remember it as Ophelia's work, but I could be wrong. Here goes:

Memorize

Close your eyes
Memorize
Hair on skin
Breath drawn in
Try to catch
One last snatch
Of whispered name
Loneliness to tame.

Open eyes
Are mezmerized
Every view
Seduced by you
[this is where it loses poignancy]
Fuck boys!
They make noise.
Fuck them!
I'm filled with phlegm.
[poet screams these lines]
Fuck you especially!
Aaargh!

It has a certain charm, wouldn't you say?

I know you're getting sick of pastiches, but I find myself with very little to say lately. Today at work I did a bunch of silly almost-demeaning things at the command of a girl my age. I should know my place by now (i.e. temps are scum)...but I don't.

I wish my brother was happier. He's been moping about the house for what seems like forever. Previously I chalked it up to exam stress, but exams are over. Perhaps the stringent self-denial combo of a vegan diet and straightedge politics (i.e. no booze or drugs) had sent him over the edge into grim stolidness. Or perhaps it's just SAD.

All I know is that he's no fun to be around...which I suppose makes us even for last year. You gotta love those 9-week-long depressions. Man.

Well, I'm going to bed. Maybe if I get 10 hours sleep, I'll feel less like killing the hapless execs who wander down with sour cigarette faces and tell us how long we'll have to wait for them to finish their work so that we can do ours. Losers.