Huzzah! More Eddie Squee. Macho-Flavored, of Course

I am a happy Guera because Eddie Cahill finally updated his hockey blog. The more I read of his hockey blog, the more I wish he kept a personal blog. I know why he doesn't; the crazies and hangers-on and celebrity stalkers would pile on like funk on an unwashed twat, but I still wish for it. He's so articulate and engaging. I will admit that he and I would likely disagree on certain issues, but since he would never be stupid or insane enough to open his personal blog to comments, it wouldn't matter. Besides, I want to know his thoughts on TV, politics, and life in the real world where the rest of us live.

Gordonbun fought his way to the front of the ficcing hutch, so he's my next project. I'm going to finish Part II and set him aside in favor of Et Tu IX. I started writing late last night, so I only managed five hundred words. I'd planned on scritching like mad today, but I had an emofest, sleepless night last night, wondering how in the hell my life has gone so far afield of where I thought I'd be. Thus, productivity on the ficcing front might be negligible. I'll most likely read or watch brainless television until I'm tired enough to nap.

Cutting caffeine may be good for my body, but it's wretched for my soul. I haven't written like a house afire since I put down the Coke and tea. Hell, I'm lucky if I'm awake past 10:30. The virtuous might lead a goodly, upward-treading existence, but God places into the heart of every man a vice so that he may truly live.

Viva caffeine.