I know that all art is subjective, but my personal definition of what separates "great" from "good" is the idea that if I were an artist in that field, I wish that I had created that piece.

I wish I wrote "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys, "One" by U2, and "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. There are a few paintings at the Getty I wish I had done, though none are by either of my two favorite painters, Edgar Degas and Alphonse Mucha. I wish I had sculpted a few things.

But I certainly wish I had written Tom Robbins' Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas. Marie was absolutely right: it's exactly my style of writing, as well as my style of reading. I'm not even done with it yet and already it reminds of a series of blog posts. This book has inspired me to return to my roots not merely as a purveyor of information from withing The Facility's walls, but to do so with a certain level of over-dramatization and technicolor. Let's try...

I realized as soon as I put my head down that it was a mistake for me to have had that twelve-ounce cup of coffee from the vending machine. I lied still, buried alive with an exhausted body and rampaging mind. I could feel my eyes feverishly dancing underneath my closed eyelids, until they, too, succummed to stillness. My wandering thoughts, however, were given no such reprieve, and I was left only with the nightmare of the anesthetized: the gift of consciousness with the curse of petrification. Perhaps, I'd try to find sleep in a clinical fashion, by counting backwards. Ten, nine, eight, seven...

That worked out pretty well. Thanks, Marie.