What I Meant Was...

Yesterday I was walking home from work, and I had the greatest idea for a post. Not exactly the greatest idea, I mean I hadn't figured out the significance of the number 42 or anything, but it was pretty good. I got home, started cooking dinner, checking emails, surfing for porn, staring out the window, forgetting that dinner was cooking, wondering who it was that told me cats were hallucinating most of their waking hours, eating burned noodles, watching Torchwood, checking my bank account, talking to my housemates, wishing I hadn't undercooked the noodles, wondering if, when I write this post tomorrow, I will wonder if whomever is reading this will go back and make sure that I wrote about burned noodles, eventually closed the lid on the macbook, went to sleep, got up the next morning went to work, went to yoga with A, got home chatted with H (and S) for almost an hour, made dinner (yes, it was mashed potatoes), hung out with the housemates, checked emails, realized I'd forgotten about the great idea i had for a post yesterday, started a stream of consciousness post about forgetting what the great idea I had for a post yesterday was, realized mid-post that the idea I had was actually two days ago, then started meta-posting about posting- which means that I am now meta-meta posting and run the risk of getting stuck in a self referential loop. What it all boils down to, is that I have absolutely nothing to post about, but I feel like taking up surreal estate on the internet for another day, and seeing if the mystery reader in Oakland will be back tomorrow.