So here's the conversation that goes down with my mom.

Mom: What kind of pain is it?
Me: The kind that hurts?
Mom: Yeah.

(Pause)

Mom: What kind of pain is it?
Me: I don't know, it just hurts—
Mom: Is it a shooting pain? Or a dull pain? Or a stabbing pain?
Me: I don't even know what that means, as I've never been shot or . . . what's a shooting pain?
Mom: It's sharp; it's like a knife—
Me: Well then what's a stabbing pain, if a shooting pain is like a knife?
Mom: It's very intense.
Me: Then it's a shooting pain.

So, in the computer room at my parents' house, there's this five-foot chest of drawers in the corner, and on it I have my bongos and shaker. It's like my percussion storage area on top. It's also where Ginny likes to lay. Oh, there's also a lamp there, since the house was apparently built without lighting.

Anyway, so Ginny's laying down there and then sees a fly buzzing about, and immediately goes to attack it. She somehow manages to get into the corner and lose her footing. Now, Ginny already has rather large eyes (think Ginny Weasley from the beginning of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets  when she first sees Harry in her house). But somehow, when Ginny starts falling backward into the little alleyway of the room's corner, her eyes shoot open EVEN WIDER THAN BEFORE!

It was not amusing to watch her claw for her life as she fell into the crevice, but the good news is, she did not injure herself. So, after fishing her out of the corner, I was able to have a good laugh at her.

I'm going to miss these cats. Last night she slept on the bed, which she never does. She slept on the other side of my feet, the side that Max doesn't sleep on.

I feel so guilty about my job duties that I am lashing out at other spammers, even if they aren't trying to make money.

Sometimes, spammers are also creators of malware, and the sites to which they link you can destroy your computer or capture sensitive personal information. Sometimes they're just propaganda, trying you to join a fight against terrorism; to be a patriot to your own country; or proclaim that the Lord Jesus Christ is your Saviour. Well, saviour to all of us, technically.

Nonetheless, it's spam. Plain. Simple. Inexpensive. Overly tasty. And great with eggs and toast.

Maybe when all is said and done I will post the conversation we'd had.

It happened on Twitter. It was awesome.

Over the weekend my brother had me run through some stuff on an Arduino board. It was kind of rad . . . but I don't have enough equipment so I pretty much can't do anything more than make lights go blinky.

In other news, I'm not proud of what I do for a living right now, and I kind of have no say in changing it, apparently.

The only say I have is to look for a new job. So . . . I'm on the hunt!

If you don't want to know then STOP READING NOW!

It's quite simple, really. You see, Rory can't die because Amy has a way of remembering him. He took her engagement ring and put it back in the TARDIS for safekeeping. And the Doctor won't die because Amy will remember what he told her when she was seven.

So, since they still exist in Amy's mind, they won't be erased from existence. Now, I still haven't worked out how she is the key to all of this, or exactly how Rory and the Doctor survive, but you can sleep soundly knowing that even though the Silurian shot Rory, and that even though the Doctor pilots his TARDIS directly into that crack in the universe, they'll be back.

They'll be back.