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Going to sleep a lot and rejoin the land of the living tomorrow.

Sleep at 3:30AM, wake at 6:50AM, business call to States at 7AM. Groggy, but good call. Very solid planning.

Business research, tech stuff in the morning. Editing book. Get tired. Can't be tired. Go for run. Eat curry, bread, salad, fruit juice, iced tea. Wake up. Book is edited. Book is edited? Book is edited! Book is edited.

Why do I have 21 emails in my box? I cleared it two days ago, and I've been answering at least half the incoming email. Note: clear inbox after morning routine and most important thing tomorrow.

Happy. Tired. I wish I was strong enough to sleep 3.5 hours per night and do high level output without crashing, but I crash now. Answer emails tomorrow. I hate sleeping. Tired. Happy.

To be or not to be– that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep No more – and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to – ‘tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th’ oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.—Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered.

Chemicals and Electricity

I'm doing some work for an old friend of mine.

His situation is interesting. Not too long ago, he lost his job and got divorced, and otherwise his life got pretty screwed up and off-track.

He left the United States, took a job below his old skill level for a while, and then stopped that and started a company. Now he's living an exceptional life, and on the verge of making a lot of money.

I thought that was awesome, and I was quite happy for him. After we'd gotten done going through a lot of numbers, choosing some vendors, designing some systems, and otherwise figuring business out on the phone, we talked personal life. I said, "Man, I'm so happy for you. So much is going right. Congratulations."

He wasn't excited. He was a little worried.