March 10, 2006

Yawn.

Man, I just know that my genotype was designed to lope through the forest chasing after deer and other snack foods. Lately, I've got the laser focus in the morning, then at mid-day I have a sandwich or a mastodon, and a sort of gooey fog descends on me like a soporific brain blanket. I need a nap.

But this is America, land of multiple fluorescently-illuminated cubicle hells (really - Judas is two cubes over, being crunched in the jaws of the Beast, which is really a drain on his productivity, but it's an HR problem and I'm not getting involved). So no nap for me.

What I'll do instead is make laps around the facility, which is so sprawling that you can actually do a quarter-mile circuit without going up any stairs. I'll do that twice.

But what I really want to do is settle down on a slab of rock near the cave entrance, maybe pick my teeth with a bone, and rest up for the firewood gathering prior to sundown, when the jewels in the sky come out and I'll have to keep watch against those nasty night-things that want to eat us all.