I choose to work tomorrow.

I don't technically have to go to work tomorrow. I want to. So there. Err...I mean, today.

I need to go to bed, but I feel a need to point out that, having begun and almost finished The Great Gatsby, I'm not that impressed. Perhaps it's my distaste for plutocrats, but I find myself asking, "Who really gives a shit what these people who, were they alive today (and I am sure their unreasonable facsimiles are), would no doubt be rich assholes, just like the majority of assholes and rich people I've met before (myself not included in the latter category)?"

Perhaps I am mistaken, and with a somewhat sudden flourish, the characters will suddenly blossom into real, three-dimensional people instead of the two-dimensional (wealthy+unsympathetic) ones they appear to be. Even better, maybe the Depression hits and only the most hardened aspiring fascist sympathizers among them will leap to their deaths when they see their lousy two-bit lives halved! What do I know, anyway? Mere literacy doesn't necessarily entitle me to criticize. Then again, it doesn't necessarily entitle one to accolades for some handful of quasi-poetic turns of phrase and lively description here and there, either.

Finishing the book...now...

TODAY'S Quote: "I want to be the leader of an anarchist society."