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Yes. 2:17. Work in 3 1/2 hours. I realize now for some reason ive been in this same seat for the past 6 hours constantly shifting from 2 different email accounts even though im not expecting anything. It's like when I was little and I always wondered why I never got mail. Hard to fathom that you'd generally send something first to expect a response but I have some kind of aversion to doing anything of that sort. That and there's something about the sound of the phone ringing lately (more than ever) that is on par with 3 inch fingernails scraping across the chalk board. I'd have a much better time if I could custom make a ring. Some light smooth fuck off jazz that slowly fades in and a nice crisp voice that echoes some horseshit about a call in the backround. Something that would actually coax me into the kitchen to answer it without making me want to throw it through the window. Either that or the phone should be loaded with some form of snack it dispenses whenever it's answered. In any case... my back feels like someone whipped a sledgehammer at it and my eyeballs are going to fall out. Now for 8 straight hours of making sure people never forget they're in debt. Fuck man. THURSDAY is the Kill Girl Kill premiere and SATURDAY is the infinite complexity show. Good times ahead.