Whiskeytown is in the computer's CD player. The last third of a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale rests to my left. Another weekend has petered itself out in still solid blues and greens. The sky has blessed us with a cool night, but you'd never know it in my apartment. The A/C blows incessantly, yet my armpits slither and slake. I hear the dull thud of fireworks outside, commemorating the last night of Jazz Fest. I guess I'm waiting for someone to talk to, since I haven't talked to someone in days. I mean I have, but not in that real, in-person way.

I'm seldom this bummed. I attribute the peaks and troughs to my supposed ADD and estrogen levels. It's easier that way, blame it on chemical imbalances, since I'm not medicated in the least, and I know that wouldn't work anyway. I know how drugs work, and I'm not interested. Besides, these are mild shifts, really. You only see them because I let them show.

My AllAdvantage viewbar annoys the shit out of me, but hey, that's $28.79 I wouldn't have otherwise at the end of every month. Catch the coin for a chance at $20,000. Fuck you. And no, I don't care if they monitor what I surf. I never look at anything too savvy, just other losers like me hoping to connect, if not in the real world, the electric, eclectic world of the Intranet.

It will get better, I promise. You guys seem to like me enough to tolerate a little self-indulgent pity party expression. We all have our sour moments.