Ramen and Regrets

Internet’s back. Better internet this time—went from that dead DSL 2000 to a proper 6000er line with unlimited calls. Took longer than they said it would, something about strikes, but I’m not complaining. My plan was to just plant myself in front of the screen once it was hooked up. Didn’t quite work out that way.

Ended up on a bike ride with Ana and her mother instead. Had this half-alive campfire situation at André’s place. Then there was Melo—some kind of venue or festival—where we went to actually lose it. The music was legitimately good. Lot of Muse, Beatsteaks, Queens of the Stone Age. My kind of thing. This band called The Giotto played, and their singer had this completely vacant expression the entire time that kept making me think of Amanda Bynes. No idea why. Just did.

Spent the rest of the weekend doing what I’d been avoiding for months: actually cleaning my Mac. I have this idiot habit of downloading stuff and tossing it into weirdly named folders scattered all over the drive. Would’ve lost half of it forever without Spotlight. Cleared out useless programs, every porn file I’d ever saved, old setup files I didn’t even recognize—all gone into the digital void. Got my photos sorted into iPhoto, which is where they’re supposed to stay. Updated the Dashboard, killed widgets that annoyed me, brought in ones that don’t make me want to throw the computer out the window.

Problem is I spent the whole chaotic weekend eating nothing but instant noodles, spinach potato wedges, and these spelt burgers drowning in ketchup. Your body keeps track of that. Woke up completely sick—the kind where you can’t breathe and you’re convinced you’re going to choke in your sleep. So here’s Sunday: TV and internet and nothing else. The diet of consequence.