The singer sounds like he's underwater

No, no, he says. There's a glottal stop in it. You've got to close your throat.

On the computer there's the sound of some mp3 I ripped from one of my cds. The cymbals are a muddy, high pitched static. I wonder why it's such a low quality when it didn't have to be. I could have chosen a higher bitrate but I didn't. I could find the cd and do it again but I don't.

I gain a strange, backward sense of satisfaction from that. It's like mediocrity is A okay if it's self-willed.

It's days like these that I start digging through my archives so I can cop out and say "one year ago I said this:" but though there are good posts back there somewhere, they're never on days when I'm looking for an out.

I think I'm finally off of the walking around my apartment naked thing. Wearing clothes means I don't need to use as much heat. Besides, the office across the street just reorganized such that now one of the desks faces the window, and the guy who sits there looks straight across the street and into my window.

I'm thinking of making a sign for him that says

Hi, is your name Sean? I have your mail.

See if he writes back.