i slept until nearly 5pm today, not exactly straight through but with bouts of _miss wyoming_ in between.

i've been all clubbed out from the previous evening. (now the book is finished and off in a corner near the dresser).

but that isn't what i wanted to reflect upon, if it is "reflecting" that i do in this venue.

picking up and beginning postman's _the disappearance of childhood_ again, i came across this phrase, "...autopsies are easier than progress reports."

simultaneously, an old fortune cookie fortune slipped out from between those pages which read, "everyone has ambitions."

you know how my brain always works (subconsciously and desperately) to forge connections between every grouping of disparate data...

so, just short of the cliched, "what do i really *want*?" query, which serves as some type of review or accumulation of desire and behavior, would be "what are my ambitions?"

who the fuck knows. i am not over yet?

i am a clerk in a cave- something not so much useful as curious or obscure. i provide juxtaposition, i provide comic relief. there is some dignity in those roles. it is not so much resignation to my post but a bland contentment or sleepiness that keeps me from venturing out into that risky daylight with my trusty accordion file.