I feel as if I should have something of importance to say. Yesterday, as I was writing to dh (because old habits die hard) I was hit over the head with the epiphany (I swear. You could've heard it. Bonk. Bonk. Bonk. Insistently, like an Avon lady at the door who wants to sell you some make-up - gently knocking at first, and then when she catches a glimpse of you peeping out from behind the curtains before you rush to turn the stereo down so you can pretend you're not home, pounding her fist on the door so hard she almost breaks those tiny little windows in the wood.) that I haven't had anything witty or intelligent to say since May 19th. The day that my Master's degree was over. No more papers. No more books. No more mental stimulation. AND, ever since I have been in the States, I have quite successfully avoided all things educated. Instead, I have watched gobs of TV, listened to countless hours of Top 40 radio, and read tons and tons of coming of age story books (and just between you and me, those all kind of run together after you read about four or five. Enter boy or girl, prepubescent. Life altering tragedy occurs. Child is scarred, bippity boppity boo, they overcome, or they don't. They're still fucked up.) . It is no surprise why I seem to have disappeared into the vacuous millions! Perhaps it is my mental state. You see, folks, I use the TV as an escape. Feeling low? Whoosh! To the TV Cave my winged wonders! Let's see what kind of crap is on the boob tube today! Look at this girl, TCWH! She just got called a whore by Sally Jesse Raphael (and who even knew she was still alive?) on National TV because she got drunk and made out with Andy Dick! Your life could never be that bad! You think Andy Dick is annoying! And you've never been drunk on public television (that you know of!) ! That, THAT ridiculousness has been my life as of late. Blame it on the moustache. I don't want to go outside.