24 January 1999

4am

It's 4am. I'm still awake, though tired beyond belief.

I meant to go to bed hours ago. I should have turned off the computer while I still had the chance. The prototype shirt for a Star Wars costume I am making is draped neatly over the ironing board. It looks pretty good, but Sabs has yet to try it on -- it may not even fit, sending me back to the drawing board to re-sketch and re-analyze.

The cloak part was easy -- a simple set of geometric patterns. I may yet decide to opt not to use a pattern I already own as a guide and resort to using my own eye to find the shapes.

Meanwhile the cats are loving the sudden increase in bits and scraps of fabric, thread and other various dangly things for them to play with. I wound up kicking them all out and closing the door. It was just taking too long to do one simple seam with the four of them poking their heads up into my lap to see what was going on.

We bought an ergonomic trackball today. It's taking some getting used to -- I keep wanting to pick it up and move it like a mouse and there have been times tonight where my hand has gone numb from holding onto it. To boot, my wrist still aches -- probably because I am having a hard time relaxing and just resting my hand on it lightly. I grip with maniacal force ...

No doubt just the rest of the tensions in my life rightnow manifesting in physical form.

It is hard to write now, even though I felt that sudden urge that often seizes me, to type out words to give some shape to what I'm thinking and feeling. I'm just too tired, my eyes too bleary, the screen too blurred, and my hand too numb to bring any kind of meaning to the morass of letters scattering across the monitor.