I have forgotten Saturday altogether. The weather, I think, was nice. Maybe not.

I do know that I slept on the couch all day Sunday — well, when I wasn’t playing Pac-Man Championship Edition or watching DVDs (The Player and the 1980 original version of Fame, if you must know). This morning I woke at 6am, which is weird. I’m usually more likely to be going to bed at that time, instead of waking up.

My Pac-Man C.E. score is sitting pretty at 147 thousand and something, which puts me in the, um, top one hundred thousand players. There are people who have scores as high as 500,000. This for a game that is limited to five minutes of playtime! Impossible, I say. And yet reaching for that gold ring is what ruined my weekend, I think. When I went to sleep, I saw Pac-Man levels in my dreams, but they were flashing, shifting levels, the maze sections more like water currents or microscopic blood circulation through brand new fetus flesh than like walls, collapsing and combining, and opening onto one another before closing again.

Meanwhile, I’ve successfully managed to get Joe Botts addicted to Bejeweled for his iPhone, which frees up the TV for me to play Xbox.

Oh, yes: we also did lots of laundry and threw away a heaping shitload of milk cartons that had been swelling and stinking in our refrigerator. Blurg!

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