Sore muscles and other delights...

I am sitting in my apartment, already packed to the gills with shit, now stuffed even more with things that have been in storage since I left the MonkeyHaüs almost three and a half years ago. Items found include a ton of books, my photo album, several notebooks and journals, and several mix tapes that I, at various times over the years, wished I had had.

Sent a lot of stuff off to Goodwill. Sent the rest flying off of a platform into a garbage pit at the Fremont transfer station, where I watched it get run over by a bulldozer. That was sorta fun. But now, after three days of dealing with relics from my past, my body is sore, and I am tired.

Bwah.

(no subject)

I've noticed several people have come up as Roy Batty and not know who he was. Watch every movie Harrison Ford has ever been in to figger it out. As an aside, I used to work woth a guy who had his name legally changed to Roy Wyatt Batty, to distance himself from his pops. He got fired because he felt that he should be able to use the womens' restroom, as he did not identify with society's gender roles.