Saturday. No job yet, and after seeing what my unemployment benefits will be like, I hate to say that getting one may actually be a better idea than trying to eke out an existence without working. Even if I do absolutely nothing, literally, the money unemployment will pay out isn't enough to get by. I don't know why I thought the government would be even remotely generous.

I'm paranoid about my mail service, or the seeming lack thereof. I should start sending everything through W.A.S.T.E., despite the insidiousness of such a system.

The coolness, and I don't only mean that in the modern vernacular sense, of William Gibson's prose- especially his last few books- amazes me every time I read it. Even his blog posts read amazingly well. I think that once I'm finished with James Blaylock's The Paper Grail, which is quite good by the way, I'm going to reread some Gibson.

Now it's back to writing.