So it's a bit of a thread running through my stories--all of my stories, dating back to playing with imaginary friends as a kid--that people process their shit, sometimes to abstraction. (The Green Day song "Redundant" does a good job illustrating this, though I rarely listen to it, because: redundant.) It's four o'clock and I turn into a pumpkin at five. I had a day job task that took two hours of my five devoted work hours today, and will take three or four of my work hours tomorrow. And this week? I have a Scientific Method story, Breaking Down,