Yes, I love my family. And yes, I even love spending 2 weeks or so chasing after a couple of dogs–one of whom still technically belongs to me, after all–while family flees the country. But, I also love when the two weeks or so is over and I get to come back to my apartment and actually relax. I had no idea how tired I was until I walked through the door and realized I didn’t have to be anywhere for, like, ever if I was so inclined. And I just might be so inclined. I feel like I’ve kind of been all over the place since the beginning of the year, mostly because I sort of have. I do believe, if things end up working out that way–and I’m gonna try damn hard to convince them to work out that way, the remainder of this month and maybe half the next will be spent doing absolutely nothing beyond the obvious. The obvious being, flaking out, looking for work, trying to stay sane, watching the olympics, throwing back the occasional coke–hey, I need my caffeine, dammit–and trying to coax a laptop that it really really really desperately wants to get back to behaving for me. Really. More on that when I figure out exactly what’s wrong with it. In the meantime, I’m home. I’m supremely tired. And the laptop’s not doing anything productive for the rest of the night–mostly because I’m rebuilding things. In short, this means I’m going to go find me some caffeine. Or my bed. Whichever’s closer.