T.S. Eliot

I read Eliot at work today, wondering why it had been so long since I enjoyed poetry. Because if I were studying it I wouldn't enjoy it, and because I'm not studying it I have no time to read it. Instead, I have time to write here while I'm supposed to be reading about food. That's fine.

I've spent the past hour at the library, read next to nothing, debated using my ninja skills to procure sex from a beautiful man and decided against it, and sunk back into feeling rather wretched about things. Reading seems to be doing that to me.

Compulsive phone and email checking is not helping matters.

At this point I think the SSL is a lost cause, so I'm going to slip off to home and back to work tonight.