Alone with Salmons

My computer is broken. Partly. The part that takes my nights away is broken.

I have the habit of spending time with games. After the grading is done, when there’s no Netflix to watch, when the scant few hours before bed persist, and the pang of “should be doings” hang in the evening, I click away at some animated mass of gunfire and pulsing music.

Which leaves me quite engaged, if rather creatively unproductive.

Thus God did smite my machine in the twilight of yesterday and left the superfluous video-gaming portion inoperable. And that, in turn, brought me to you.

Uber peeps Adrian and Sarah are out, living it up. I was chained to the dining room for most of the evening, but have time, at last, to do something. What? That’s the question. I’m alone with Salmons, and there’s naught to do but read and learn, think and grow, write and sigh.

There is that bank situation. There is an ongoing project for work that could use some attention. There are a dozen books ready to be poured through. Ah, and “the book” itself to begin writing.

Looking at the wall of apartments across from our balcony, most windows are lit. There’s a small snapshot of a hundred lives, arranged like a set of flowers, each a blossom of character. I wonder what they’re doing.

I might leave the computer broken for now. I just need to learn to do more, I think. There might be a future in being productive. You never know.

Alright. Money thing first, then some reading. Oh! There’s still some preparation for class tomorrow. I guess that takes priority.

Glad that’s settled.

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