Each Tick of the Clock Takes Forever

LJ is choking on its own bile again. I can't muster outrage or anxiety at this point. It has become routine. Either LJ will repel the attack and survive, or it won't. My journal is backed up. I've done all I can do to preserve my online life and precious fannish mementos.

Time has begun to crawl again, and without the fervor of the holidays to distract me, my mind turns incessantly to my upcoming Rammstein odyssey. April seems so far away, and I find myself counting the days until I can get into the car and forsake my boring, stifled little life where one day bleeds into the next and no unexpected joy finds me. I haven't rolled around in the logistics of my travel plans yet because my traveling companion's schedule might well be in flux in the near future, and I don't want to settle on an itinerary only to have it obliterated by meatspace's relentless demands.