Crescendo

Things are starting to improve. I'm not talking about the kind of improvement where one wakes up and the sun is streaming down with all the virtuosity of a woman in the throes of orgasm. I'm talking about the kind of improvement which is on the level of the sun peaking through the clouds only to dip away again like some kind of damned tease. I'm not going to complain too much. An improvement is an improvement. My computer works. Not only does it work, it works faster. It runs as if someone stuck a cattle prod into its metallic behind. I probably didn't need the new power source, but it is handy and things zip along like a mutha, if you'll pardon the ghettoized expression. Know what was bringing my system down? Dust. Yeah. I thought I cleaned it out, but apparently I hadn't done the job well and heat was having a field day with my processor. A can of compressed air did the job well enough and now I can actually play music. Oh, and I have internet on this thing.

I've also been stepping through lines of red tape. I got my drivers license. I rolled my finger prints. I opened a new checking account. I asked for all my transcripts. I've been asking for references. In short, I've been a pretty good boy. Once everything goes through, I'll be able to get that damned job and make some money. My debts are piling up and I have to begin repaying my loans. Speaking of loans, it's about time I consolidated them. I think I'll do that tomorrow.

I've also been going to the weight room. I haven't been to a weight room in over a year. I've been lifting on my own, but it's not quite the same and I appreciate being in a place where I can lift in peace for an hour or so with all the equipment I desire. The problem with the weight room is the dichotomy between my mind and my body. My mind is used to the younger me, who was skinny and without muscle, but quite strong. My body, however, is a man with a man's muscles. I'm bulked and toned, but physically weaker than I was in high school. A few years does a lot to a man's body, and now I have to work a bit to reunite my former strength with my current body.

I have, of late, been reading Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita. It's a pretty cool book so far. The devil and his cronies are running amok and people are going insane and/or dying. That's the gist of it so far. Bulgakov was censored by Stalin and went insane because of it. I've always had a thing for Russian writers and it's a bit sad to see what happens when an artist is suppressed because of political reasons. It makes me think about the distinct possibility of such a thing happening in today's America. I would write more on the subject, but that is a rant deserving of its own piece.

The bike shop still hasn't called about my bike. I will have to call them tomorrow. And, oh yes, consolidate my loans. Dastardly things, loans.

My room is about set. That pleases me to no end.