ZANE IS A SLEEPY BOY. As the clock nears 5 in the morning, I begin to question why there is a certain perverse side of human nature that always responds to the body's desperate pleas for sleep with the deliriously chipper suggestion idea of staying up all night - after all, it's late already! May as well stay up until every noise is like a thousand of the world's tiniest ice picks attacking your eyes (Why the eyes and not the ears? That's how tired you get).
OH BOY!
Anyway, I appear to have some strange combination of writing constipation and diarrhea, as I keep writing whatever crazy nonsense pops into my head, but don't actually have anything to say.
I did a solid three more hours of work on my presentation for Friday, and am at last all done except for editing, which will probably take about twice as long as the process that led up to it. I am thoroughly fed up with the Japanese readings of Chinese names, I tell you what - in what insane world does "Kousei" sound like it has ever met, maybe even just to shake hands then part ways as amiable acquaintances, the original Chinese "Jiang Qing"?
Okay, I'm cutting myself off here before I lose all control and start rambling about pants, in particular the disappearance or eating thereof.
- Gyaa! I'm give up
Naka-ku, Hiroshima
730-0803
JAPAN