Right now, "oh god, go slower," beats the exclamation points.

Waking up in the mornings makes me wonder what is happening in my sleep, what is making me feel like I've got all of these invisible bruises. I have come down with a disease I've decided to call Doom. I'm achy and my eyes are heavy and I don't approve of anyone and I have bad dreams. I have dreams where I'm living in a space house and all I'm concerned about is that one of my space roommates has been moving my space tools around, I have dreams where I'm shouting at a strange man to stop following me and I'm so angry I could cry. Last night I dreamt that someone stole my silver car, and I worried about the trunk full of giant oranges, worried that the thief wouldn't like oranges and instead of eating them would leave them to rot. Then I was kidnapped to Manhattan, then I got away but didn't know how to get home, then I ended up at some sort of arts and crafts protest with Don McKellar. He helped a little. It isn't all bad, the upside is that this disease has made me slightly taller and more often than not I'm managing to say exactly what I mean to people.

This weekend is a long weekend, but even longer than that. Friday was the Egg's birthday and we did just what we did last year, but somehow it wasn't as good, though he seemed to like it. At one point George called out, "Here comes the Egglet!" and I laughed because now his name reminds me of someone it shouldn't. The Egglet and I had a nice talk, we have all of our best talks on the first of July. Kickstand asked me to describe a scary movie to her, and even though I did a horrible job, jumping around from scene to scene in no particular order, she said I'd done well and I'd given her the creeps. It was an alright night, and suddenly very late so Sam drove me home and said, "I'll see you tomorrow," because it's that kind of weekend.

For most of yesterday I couldn't figure out why it wasn't Sunday. I listened to Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me on the internet so that I could hear it from your station when you do, and it sounded just the same (except for a commercial for your city's summer festival, which startled me at first because I'd forgotten by then what I'd been doing). It doesn't seem right that you could be hearing exactly what I hear. It makes me wonder what else is the same.

In the afternoon and into the night there was a goodbye for the Young Mr. O'Connell, and I'm going to miss him a lot. He said, "I'll be back before too long," but sometimes when you aren't trying to find a new life it happens anyway, sometimes people go and don't come back. People showed up that I hadn't seen in years, one or two that I thought I never wanted to see again, but after a while I guess it's easy to get over things. It lasted forever because no one really wanted to say goodbye, but then we did, and it was Unix' turn to drive me home. I'd forgotten what that was like, how long it takes him to say goodnight, how long it takes to get out of the car. It's sort of nice to know that parts of him never change.

Today there are places I'm supposed to go, but I'm going to stay home and watch Inspector Lynley. I'm going to write a letter to Jackpot, who's already written a letter to me. I'm going to tell him about New Jersey, and the trees at the end of Whitney that were cut down, and what has become of the Curry and Kebab Mahal. I'm going to tell him that in Japan, Rushmore is called The World of Genius Max, and Bottle Rocket is called Anthony's Happy Motel, because that is exactly the sort of thing I'd tell him if he were here. I'm going to keep making that thing I'm making, because a year late is better than never. I'm going to get excited for the fireworks tomorrow, and decide where to see them from, and with whom. So far the Captain has the best idea, but anything can happen in a day.

I've been invited to a wedding. I'm pretty excited about that. I'm told it's on the moon, but people like to exaggerate. I'm told there'll be a river and ducks, which is a bit easier to believe.