Obama

“Just because we have the best hammer does not mean that every problem is a nail.”

-- President Barack H. Obama

In light of recent foreign policy trials, such as the Russian threat on Ukraine, Obama has been put on the defensive by critics for being an overly reluctant warrior. He is keeping his cool.

Thursday Morning

I got around to changing the kitty litter, clearing the way to get another bag with the groceries tomorrow. It would have to be a sunny, somewhat summery morning, after having had so many overcast mornings. Feeling a little sweaty. It looks like we'll be putting on the air-conditioner a little earlier today, more like twelve instead of two o'clock.

Soylent

Soylent gets a review in the New York Times. It's not a glowing review. It's all function and no fun. But do you know what else isn't any fun? My TV dinners and frozen pizzas and just about all of my crappy diet. I also wonder if it might not be too late for Soylent to save me from diabetes.

They are selling it, not at Amazon, but I can get it. The problem is that it's $85 for the smallest order, for 21 meals. Four dollars per meal isn't terrible, but I was expecting something more radical. I'm not going to cough up that kind of money on an experiment. But it's on my mind. It's something to think about.

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NYT

http://soylent.me/

Celebrities and Stuff

"KILL THE MESSENGER - Official Trailer (2014) [HD] Jeremy Renner" (Watch on YouTube)

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Dinner and Whine

I hope I don't vomit tonight in my sleep. Kay didn't come over until seven this evening, and then they left for a late dinner. Having the kitchen to myself, I didn't want to simply heat up a pot pie, as was my original intention for dinner. I wanted something ... more fun. But I couldn't think of a damn thing. The only thing that came to mind was another fucking frozen pizza. I just had Little Caesar's pizza on Tuesday. But it was a new brand that I wanted to try, and I figured it would be a good idea to get the low-down on it before pop and I go to the commissary tomorrow. It was better than a pot pie, but it was still, you know, frozen pizza, again. I only hope that it stays down when I'm sleeping.

I'm writing about frozen pizza and throwing up, but what I am really doing is hurting and dying of loneliness. Of course, this is the point, when it comes to a lot of these journal entries, focusing on a very particular if terribly mundane detail of the life, to try to get my mind off a bad track, to think about something else, anything else. The evenings are especially hard. During the days, I am reasonably content working on my book-blogging. But the nights: my body is running on low ebb, and I cannot really work seriously on any of my projects (which is also why I like to read light, escapist fiction at this time), and I feel the emptiness of it all, and I feel like I have had enough of this. Writing past it is the best answer I have.