So I been lazy but I don't feel it: 11+3+7.5+3=24.5 hours of sleep so far this weekend, which does seem a touch excessive, especially since I've managed to get so little done today because in my haste to leave Joephet some undistractedness and to get some work done on my homefront, I left all my work at his apartment, and was barred reentry by his picky super. So I went home and got distracted in many ways, as usual, not getting nearly enough done on my interview protocols for the rest of this week.

The real question, as I reached full circle today in talking with John Blum about where it is that he should spend two year of his life teaching those on the end opposite from his in terms of white flight, I now wrestle is whether or not I've lost my edge. Sometimes it does feel like I've been able to squeeze out more than the usual amount of sharpness and insight, just by being under siege and being forced to produce so much with so little time. But I do feel as if my range has constricted since college--my current grad school connections are sporadic, my school friends are chummy but not exactly intellectual expansionists, and Joephet is the rest of my social world, and he has a skepticism toward my more analytic tendencies, dismissing it all as mere "semantics." Better that than syntax, though. I guess I most acutely feel this way because I feel so disconnected from art in any way--and when I do get those vague rumblings, I am without notebook... Could it be that I'm precisely missing the vague abstracted wandering questioning of white friends? Maybe that's it... Or maybe I've just stopped going to the comic book store (the more Thai fried rice for Joephet), and as a result have shrunken.

But I'm probably being paranoid--I'm reading more now than I ever have before--one great thing about Joephet is his books. And looks. Definitely the looks. If I didn't point that out, I'd have some splainin to do later tonight.