Naturally, I have the most time to write about my life when there's decidedly little worth writing about in my life. Also, I'm reading "Faster: The Accelleration of Almost Everything" right now, and I'm reading it very, very slowly. It's by James Gleick, the guy who wrote "Chaos," which was very, very good. "Faster," unfortunately, isn't, which is ultimately why it's taking so long for me to get through it, not some dedication to all things ironic.

Time is a weird thing for me right now. For as long as I can remember, I've thrived on the chaos of an insanely busy schedule. And now, most of my day has a whole lot of nothing in it. I'm working in series rather than in parallel, finding a task or a project and seeing it through rather than juggling it with five other things concurrently. That's been refreshing, but I still find myself wasting a great deal of this newfound free time, and ignoring things that could benefit from some regular attention. Like practicing any and all of the various musical instruments around the apartment.

So, this week saw the introduction of a rough schedule. What I realized this morning is that I can't entirely rely on just "waking up" at the right time to adhere to it. Which means that next week, the unemployed guy is going to start actually setting an alarm. Go figure.

And, revisiting a recent entry for a moment, my capacity for doing the wrong thing when it comes to women apparently knows no bounds. This is, mostly, just a hunch right now, but a vague hunch is all I'm willing to lay down for posterity right now.