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“There is nothing to write about, you say. Well then, write and let me know just this – that there is nothing to write about; or tell me in the good old style if you are well. That’s right. I am quite well.” ~ Pliny the Younger

My fingers are just itching to write something, but I have nothing to write about. Life is good decent. Work is boring. Money is plentiful there at the very least. although unspendable until I finish paying my mom back, but it shouldnt take too long for me to finish *that* up. Jim and I have, I think, finally come to an understanding about what each of us expects out of our current state of affairs. And the cold that had begun to plague me earlier this week went away in record time. (Seriously, I’ve never had a cold dissapate that fast… a thank you goes out to Travis for the reccommendation of the ‘hot toddy’–I’m thouroughly convinced that’s what did it.) I’m finally nearing the end of a book (Tommyknockers) that has taken me over 4 tries to read. Most people would give up, but since it’s one of my goals to read everything ever written by Stephen King (my favorite author) I can’t let one book stand in my way, even if the first 300 pages are slow reading. Eat, sleep, read, and the occasional bubble bath (which i’ve become addicted to lately). So… yea… that’s my life… fun, eh? I’ve never really been one to detail the events of a particular day in a diary, even though I guess that’s what a diary would technically be for, and some people do use it for such things. I’m more of an emotional writer (as are many of you, actually, now that I think about it). Thus, when nothing is happening to cause a lot of emotion one way or the other, I don’t write. Must fix that. But until then— I am quite well.