So, it was nice and sunny and springish, and then it got rainy and stormy and cold. But that's lovely too in its own way.

Today, my bus was full of military men. The ones who joined me saluted the colleagues they left behind in the culturally-sensitive concrete haven which had sheltered them from the rain, but never the cold. After noting this, I realised how much the bus smelt like sweaty-fat-man =
Are we too arrogant? Thinking as deeply as we do. Dissecting the inner workings of our minds and society. Or is this a privilege we've earned and we deserve purely because we have the ability to use it? Am I pseudo-deep-teen ranting? The answer to that, I know.

I know where most of the Departments I work with are now. Today I found AusAID and Attorney-General, which I think makes one location for each department. It's interesting. I never noticed them before, now I'm like "oh, Department of ********, I still have to invoice the Russian books for them.". Work is starting to infect my mind. Though I really don't feel like going tomorrow. Especially not if this weather keeps up. I think I might go to bed early tonight. I'm frazzled already and I have much business ahead of me still. I don't know if I have the energy or the money to go camping, and cold weather wouldn't help, don't want to be sick when I go to the Dolls... It might be nice just to spend at least one day lying in bed doing nothing... If I don't go camping I have two possible nothingness days... on at least one of which I intend to go out for coffee ^^

"Whenever I put the headset on now," he'd continued, "I really do understand what I find there. When those kids sing about 'She loves you,' yeah well, you know, she does, she's any number of people, all over the world, back through time, different colors, sizes, ages, shapes, distances from death, but she loves. And the 'you' is everybody. And herself. Oedipa, the human voice, you know, it's a flipping miracle." His eyes brimming, reflecting the color of beer.

"Baby," she said, helpless, knowing of nothing she could do for this, and afraid for him.

He put a little clear plastic bottle on the table between them. She stared at the pills in it, and then understood. "That's LSD?" she said.

- The Crying of Lot 49, Thomas Pynchon

Listened to The Postal Service today. Lovely. Especially turned up nice and loud while watching the rain out a bus window and writing about military men and sweaty-fat-man smell.