Why am I getting comments on my occasional posts on the politiblog? The thing's been dormant for years. No one should be checking it.

Why, when an office looks around at their staff to choose people to handle lunchtime relief for the receptionist, why are none of the people ever chosen male?

Why is that man out in the atrium whacking great chunks out of the trees with giant pruning shears? What did the trees ever do to him?

Why is there an invisible person somewhere close by, using a drill or electric screwdriver? I can hear it plainly from my desk but can't find it when I walk around and look for it.

Why are people ridiculously superstitious? Grace, over in the National 'Nuts department, was telling someone last Friday how she'd ridden her bike to work. She didn't drive her car because she was afraid of having bad luck on Friday the 13th. To the best of my knowledge, you're a heckuva lot more likely to get run over on DTC Boulevard if you're on a bicycle than if you're in a car, so, superstition around random dates: stupid; and riding a bike to avoid an accident: asking for trouble.

Why don't writers know when to quit? When the mood is gone, when inspiration is failing you, and when you don't really have anything left to say in your fictional universe--why don't you just quit? Why beat the tattered dregs of your good idea into a pulp until even the original, inspired stories begin to suffer by proximity? (Of, if you must write dreck, why can't you keep it to yourself? Do you know that you've ruined my enthusiasm for your first stories and that I'll probably never again be able to read them?)

Why does it take people two days to do a two-minute project? This week, I told Vela to let me do the 'NutNews editing. I edited every article for this issue in less than 30 minutes. The last couple of times, I've had to wait two days for everyone to get around to doing their editing, and most of them are only editing one or two articles per issue.

Why do I spend so much time complaining about the additional projects I've been given here at the Argonut Café when clearly I continue to have lots of free time on my hands for blogging?

Why does the human body crave massive injections of fatty food when the stuff isn't good for it? For the last week, I haven't been able to think about anything but Mexican food.* Why does the body crave what's not good for it? I know that refined sugar does something chemical in the brain and I'm assuming fat does something similar, but why? It's hardly survival-oriented.** (I guess it's possible that nature has decided that our species is so stupid and so destructive that the sooner we do ourselves in, the better.**)

I made a humongous credit card payment today. Can take the money left in my checking account and indulge myself in an armload of new books as a reward?

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* Well, okay, I was obsessing about pancakes but I got those Saturday morning. So it's Mexican food now.

** I have moods.