At work, when i'm especially bored, I sift through my old sent-mail box, and lament the fact that less than a year ago I was busy - frenetically busy - with things that I actually wanted to do: labs, the SSA, R&B and just generally having a good time. A little strange, perhaps, but I think only natural, part of the process of grieving, coming to terms.

(Choonping: I was genuinely smoking out: was out of the main office, purportedly at a meeting, if by "meeting" you mean "sitting in the canteen all morning drinking coffee". It wasn't lunch. I haven't reached that state of depravity just yet.)

Currently reading: The Catastrophist - Ronan Bennett
(how many books can you name that are set in the congo?)