Scrambled Eggs, Hold the Apathy

Three days. Not a click. And, most disappointingly, not the urge to click.

No desire to see what’s been going on down on Farmville. It might well exist and may well have been hit by a tornado, or it might be another internet game. In the abstract and disinterested way I now fork into my scrambled eggs, I ignore the news, and seek only toast. Farmville? What? Washington? What? The center of government of the world’s only super-power is only four hours drive and that seems a long fucking way. Big country, shrunken vistas.