One day closer to the last one...

and thank God.


Remember that movie with Vinnie Barbarino Whatsis Name...where he plays this really nice ordinary guy who suddenly got really smart and could read fifty books a day and invent super-fertilisers for his friend Forrest Gump's corn, and learn a language a day and make pencils float in the air, and all that? Remember that one?

Anyway, just before he gets smacked in the head by the aliens' Smartysmart Raygun from space, he's standing in front of the pub where his nice friends have given him a birthday party.

He's standing outside holding a pint, and looking up to heaven, smiles and says, "Thirty-seven... All right. Thirty seven." And we're supposed to see from that that he's a really together guy who's quite nice and pretty contented with his life, even though he hasn't become a NASA scientist or cured cancer or invented a time machine yet or anything really good.

He's a car mechanic I think.

Anyway,

"Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven."

Nope. Just doesn't work the same way for "Forty-four. All right. Forty-four."

I woke up last Monday and found I was still living in a weird foreign country where I can't figure anything out and I STILL didn't know how the hell I got here or what I'm doing here.

I don't think I feel like everything's OK. I think I feel more like some minor character in BSG who wanders around stunned in the background all the time going, "What the frack? What the frack?"