Sprite and skyward melancholy.

The Day of the Apes was attended by just the right folks, although, as I suspected, we didn't make it past the third film, Escape from the Planet of the Apes. With the help of a massive supply of beer and junk food, an animatronic, remote-controlled ape head, and plenty of conversation, it was a most excellent experiment. It was also Linda's birthday, so when she and I went to the bookstore, I bought her a copy of Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I reckon she'll enjoy it.

Now I'm just tired and listening to Agalloch and Nest while drinking Sprite and debating whether to watch the X-Files or go to sleep. Tomorrow the plan is to have lunch at Cafe Montrose with Linda and Tracey, then hang out with Ashley later in the day/evening. Somewhere in there I need to sit down and write, but I'll worry about that later; right now I've got to make the aforementioned decison and not let the best of "She Painted Fire Across the Skyline" get the best of me.

Good night, world.