This has been the weekend of footsteps. Footsteps above me all fucking day, all fucking night. Now I’m dealing with 5:30am footsteps. These in particular sound and are shaped like the footsteps of wildebeest running from hyenas. Small chidren rushing to and fro. Older, heavy-set people shuttling to and fro. I don’t like “fro.” I loathe “to.” And so I am going to have to settle for five hours of sleep tonight. I can’t exactly go back to bed now — I have to move my car in four hours. I know if I somehow got to sleep now, and, yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen, what with the hooves, I would sleep through the alarm and get fined $45 for not moving my car. It’s a mug’s game.

I still don’t have my regular computer back. And something about The Gates has appeared in The New York Times every damn day since 1984, I think.