With Apologies to the Wachowski Brothers

I'm sitting here, alone in the dark, wired as Google, with a mind that races like McQueen through an open German field.

I'm visiting a weird state right now, recently all too familiar, which is undoubtedly the product of intaking too much sugar & caffeine at work.  I'm bored, but I harbor that nagging spectral thought that prods and pokes me in the direction of anything other than what I'm doing right now.  Though my motivation reserves are running critically low, I'm on edge, and feel just below impelled to read something substantive.

So I'll conclude this short post with a comment somewhere between entgleisen and nonsequitur: I don't want to read anything because any content I encounter will, somewhere along its way to the hard disks of my brain, become fragmented and useless.  Crap.  I wish I was plugged in to the Matrix.