I’ve fallen into a familiar rut as of late: go to work, come home, piss my time away, wonder where my time went. I have the desire to make progress on certain projects, but no follow-through to back that up. I’m tired, and it’s about time I moved on in my life—I just have no clue where to move on to.

Step one of this moving-on process is to wean my current job off of me. It’s become unhealthily dependent, and my interests lie decidedly elsewhere—to continue on as things are indefinitely would be to do neither party a favor. My best hope here is to construct a programatic mini-me that can hold their hands through most of the things I end up doing during my day.

Step two is where things get fuzzy; I am certain, however, that step three is profit!

…

Brian, Albert and I started playing Indigo Prophecy over the weekend. The title screen allows you to start movie, which is a telling choice of words; though Albert and I never really touched the controller, we were just as entertained as Brian was. The game gives you control over Lucas Kane, immediately after he’s killed a man in the restroom of a tiny restaurant. You need to deal with the body and clean up—but you have to do it before the cop sitting at the bar decides to take a leak.

My first time through—being the smooth thinker I am—I ran out of the bar without paying my bill. Brian wasn’t quite so dumb.

Also intriguing is the fact that you not only play the part of the killer—you also play the parts of the detectives who are trying to track him down. It’s an interesting position to be put in, and so far has been an interesting game; definitely worth the price-dropped-game price I paid for it.

…

Worked late yesterday, stayed up late last night (pure brilliance on my part), and then got up extremely early to finish things off today. [There’s nothing quite like learning that a fundamental assumption you made a long time ago is horribly wrong, and then trying to correct it ASAP.] I spent the rest of the day trying—and failing—to nap, and being cranky when I wasn’t holding my eyes shut. Ugh.

Marin has now repeatedly encouraged me to get enough sleep tonight.

…

Saw Robin, Sam, Kate, and Barry at dance practice tonight, which was quite a bit of fun; I actually danced, too—I’d been slacking the last few weeks. Robin and I have been chatting more, which is nice; we both tend to listen more than talk, which has historically led us to rather quiet dances. Barry tried to grill me about what gals in the room I thought were the hottest; I refused to cave in to his demands (I’ve always had definitional issues about “hotness,” and also have never seen the need to rank others), so he refused to chat with me further. Our friendship appears to be in Extreme Danger. Kate and I practiced the ninja whip, which I fouled up two times before nailing; it’s such a cool move, though, that it’s worth maintaining the ability to use it. Sam told me about inconclusive evidence that suggests that she’s a better follow when tipsy, and repeatedly, hilariously, refused lead’s attempts to get her to cha-cha.