When Marco turned up, I hid my head under a couple of pillows. Didn't help one bit. The guy's stubborn. Corn-fed, red-blooded, test-pilot stubborn. He slumped on my bed, watching the Saturday morning cartoons, all depressed about Adriano. Pouting. He was pouting, with that empathic I'm just a poor human schmuk with human-sized dreams, trying to deal with things that are so much bigger than me and I need to sit down for a minute look on his face.

Which is really what I was talking about before, and that makes me wonder why I bother with the character analysis, because I never end up saying what I wanted to say. I'm so much more coherent in virtual life about investing dollars. dollarstoinvest.com

Discussion feels like reduction. Making a point implies working things down, sticking to a few key concepts and connections, which is all well and good when you're talking about, say, a scientific discovery, but wholly inadequate when delving into a person. Into a human equation. Perhaps that's the necessity of life - because there's stuff that can't be articulated on innumerable bulletin boards and blog posts. Perhaps that's why I'm more and more disenchanted with the so-called human sciences, but it's neither here, nor there.

Him turning up this morning wasn't a surprise. The same way that, when you've been talking about someone behind their back, they inevitably turn up. Rhapsodizing about characterization is much like talking about him behind his back. He'd rather I wrote a blog -- so much more satisfying for all concerned.

And he nagged, and he pleaded, and he cajoled, and he flirted, and he said to me - write. And I said, honey, doll -- be good and take a hike, I don't have time for you today.

Work is healthy, work is good for me, work will set me free and liberate the masses (sure, what next), work drags me outside my head, which is always a plus, work means no other people around me...

La prima voce nel mio blog. Mi chiedo come sarebbe guardare.