One more night and this work week is out of the way. This morning I'm in a position to pull a circa-1982 William Gibson by listening to Steely Dan (courtesy of Bob, who lent me all his LPs), smoking cigarettes, and reading heavy fiction, though in my case it'll be David Foster Wallace and not Samuel Delany. Which reminds me: I need to finish Dhalgren this year, as well as Finnegans Wake. I started the latter in 2001, but I haven't picked it up in a long time. Maybe the next time I get high alone I'll grab it and see where it takes me.

Now: Kreator, Luckies, and shitty rum. Later: reading, writing, LPs. I cannot fucking wait for the weekend.

P.S. If you want to entertain ferrets and yourself, give the ferrets an empty baby bottle with a rubber nipple on it. Then you can sit back and watch them race with it around the house. Good times, man, good times.