reconnecting with the 'real' world

I'm sitting here listening to music for paranoid cities and reading this paranoid fantasy that's been waiting on my mother's table for months and months. For good reason; "The Traveler" is not exactly good. But it fits something about this evening.

I ordered a pizza, and with it got a bottle of Diet Coke. I haven't drunk the stuff regularly in months. As the chemical-laden fluid works its way through my system, there is one thing I am sure of: if I wanted to, I could understand the television again.