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The muppet stamps are terrific. I bought a bunch yesterday. I am going to strive to use them only for personal correspondence. Although, I think a worker at a bill collection center will certainly be cheered by the smiling hollering visage of Animal - I think it is more likely that the worker will open the envelope without even a passing gaze on the stamped styrofoam joy. I like how the stamps are designed. Each stamp has a muppet character who looks like he is busting through white. If you put the stamp on a white envelope it will look like a muppet is actually climbing out of the envelope. People will be so excited to read the letter. "I wonder what other muppets are in there?" they will say. This, is in fact a lot of pressure. I have to write better letters, now. And, perhaps use better handwriting so people can understand what I am saying. If someone would like a letter. Please write to me, so that I will know the good things to say when I write back.

It is funny how something can be camel through the needle difficult, while at the same time be easier and more comfortable than anything I have ever had in my life.
That's both frightening and inspiring.

Sleep has been hard to come by lately. Once I get to sleep I sleep the sleep of the victorious, but getting to that point has been kind of hard. Some of it might be based on the camel through the needle stuff. But, I also think I am not getting enough exercise. I am getting a new knee brace, I hope that helps make bike riding less (or not at all) painful. And, maybe I will even start running again. I might also join a gym this fall. 24 Hour Fitness isn't that far away. And, maybe if I go there late at night it would give me a chance to exercise without as many people around to mock my gesticulations.

It was said that insanity ran in her family. She listened to the rumors. She heard only the truth. Her autograph was worth more than her jewels. She insisted on staying in the house. Sequestered. A dimly lit yellow room with only dusty plastic flowers and tattered books of German poets to keep her company. She spent much of her time devising ways to meet the public again. A grand return. She spent an equal amount of her time convincing herself of all the reasons she should avoid this return. The lack of sun. The lack of air. The lack of anything but Goethe. This all shrunk her down. She was forced out. A fire? A mouse? An attack of courage? It doesn't matter. She knows the sun again.