So in contrast to my far more active past two days, I've been at home all day, waking late after an allnighter, catching up on enews and the like, and wondering where the political conventions of a year ago have gone. Granted, I am now much more domesticated, and of course my more bodily forays into leftism were motivated, as I must recall, by the desire to meet like-minded attractive gay leftists. Yeah... as I found then, all the leftists were balding and married. So I've gotten rustier, though in one of my more frantic dreams (many involving the overskimpiness of my swim trunks appropriated from Joephet (they show off the bottoms of my impressive-ish thigh muscles), new Targets being opened up in Harlem, and snowball fights with the Hargeys) or dream sequences I remember becoming suddenly paranoid (or maybe this was not a dream but a realization forced by Harry Potter and the amount of growth that he's experienced in the four years since the first book (friendship, respect within a community, more spells, pubes) about how far I've come periodically, every four years, as this is also one of those moments when you can't lie to yourself anymore--you're picking a career now, and it's for reals, and there's no real turning back. Then again, I'm a prick: I look at Joephet, who's doing just fine at another one of those check-in points, and I realize there's no real rush: I've somehow internalized some sort of Protestant hastiness in achieving this goal or that: I should slow down and take a breath: for all my anti-establishment skepticism, I've done a little too well to have much credibility.