Ah, well.

Our apartment is too big. I feel completely uncentered, or some other feng shui yuppie shit. I hate all the complications—the appliances, the technology, the cleaning. Moments like these I admire the Amish and the cavelady in Clan of the Cavebear.

I slept all night and all day. Now it’s 2 in the morning and even my cat is sleeping. If I go to bed, I’ll just be tossing around, tensely because I won’t want to shake Matt awake. I’ll have that kinetic feeling in my legs where they haven’t been used enough to lie still and rest so they just keep straining and shifting, and eventually kick Matt in the balls or something. Yeah, there’s nothing poetic about insomnia.

I would like to thank Rachel Griffiths for her outstanding performance in this week’s “Six Feet Under.” I didn’t think she deserved that Emmy before, which implies that I have the artistic perception of a vacuum cleaner. Tonight she was poignant, and I really believe that Brenda loves Nate. How anyone could love Nate is beyond me. Also beyond me, apparently, is the fact that these people do not actually exist.

I would like to contradict myself one more time by relating that I love my new high-speed Internet (Internet) connection, and screaming “yahoo!” every time someone calls me while I’m online. It’s like that time when I got a 56k modem in place of 28.8, except more expensive and with little green blinking lights that I find oddly comforting, in a post-modern way.

Carly has now succumb to sleep, which means there is a real danger that I am in fact becoming nocturnal. I wish I was supposed to use this opportunity to kill vampires or something, but I’m just not kung-fu-hip-hop-marvelous enough for such a destiny.

Instead I will go and read, like your average night rider.

Coming soon: A tribute to Ferny Fitness -and- Evidence that two of your favorite actors are really just one Über-fabulous hermaphrodite (the sultry Greek kind).