I spent an hour in a sensory deprivation tank last Friday.

It was useful in that I was able to determine that I'm much more dissociative than most people. For me, the utter lack of sensory stimuli wasn't profound, it was boring. I got the sense of "yes, it's interesting that I can open my eyes and see nothing, but I am revealing no deeper truths about myself." They advise you to count backwards from 100; I counted breaths backwards from 100 a good eight times with no fundamental change in my outlook or demeanor. I then decided that perhaps I do better with a little sensory stimulus so I started to sit up right about the time the timer clicked off.

I gained understanding as to why I prefer sensory inundation to sensory deprivation - my jam is the russian spas, because I love the steam room, I love the banya, I love the cold plunge, I love forcing myself into my body, rather than out of it. The fact that I'm deeper in my head than most people explains a lot, really, such as why I gain so little use from meditation, and why I so rarely act out of passion instead of logic.

I had this discussion with the owner of the facility (an impeccable, million-dollar build; the sort of boutique floating facility you might find in Pasadena is exactly the sort of boutique floating facility it is) and he told me I'm the first person to tell him that in three and a half years. He offered me two more free sessions just to see if I'd change my tune because the research he's sponsoring with MRIs and shit indicate that an hour's worth of floatation is equivalent to 10,000 hours of meditation, whatever that means. So I'll probably go back just so I can put the last nails in the coffin but primarily what I learned is that spiritually, I am a bit of an outlier.

I crossed 1400 miles last night. Also I ran over a rat. roadkill is as roadkill does. I took four showers yesterday because I also took the metro into Hollywood for lunch, which meant walking a mile and a half. And I had an english muffin, and a sandwich and a bag of chips and a biscotti and some shepherd's pie and some salad and some watermelon and some ice cream and gained a pound and a half. The transit difference between "going to work" and "coming back from work" is an additional 10 minutes, which is all sitting at lights, all in Toluca Lake, all in 98 degree heat.

Supposedly the endocrine test results will be available next month.

The birth center has officially crossed over to the point where my vendors are getting impatient with me to finish so they can show off our projects.

I spent four hours day before yesterday ordering lights that I'd already ordered.

And I ate half of a round-trip ticket because we moved the schedule around. Things are so fucked up that I found myself googling what sort of penalties the airline can inflict on me for not using a ticket I purchased before I slapped myself.

On the plus side, the fare war means that rejiggering my schedule only cost me $200.