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The laptop is slurping software down a P2P network. All legal stuff, freeware, some stuff released under a Creative Commons license — including Cory Doctorow's two novels. Spreading the world, and having the word spread to me in return. Meanwhile, I'm sat up here in the loft, Debian sat in front of me, first chance I've had to get it connected since I left university.

It shows. I still have an account set up to check my university e-mail. Old communications about FYP meetings and problems with the encryption code, code I haven't looked at for too long. An old licq that needed fixing, gaim that still needs an update if I could get out of circulatory package dependency bullshit. Security updates and patches that sucked down a big hunk of data. XEarth on my desktop, showing me where the sun is these days. Good stuff.

Just one more week at work. That's all. Then blissful holiday, a week of going back and rejoining the Eastern Standard Tribe. Surprisingly (or not, as the case may be), computers, television and video games fuck with circadians. Article was on BoingBoing earlier and I'm too preoccupied watching my hands writing to link to it. This doesn't surprise me. There's a reason hackers dance at the edge of time-zones, slipping into tribes on the minus curve. At least I have it easier than Silicon Valley. They can fall back on Japan or Australia. I get the Eastern Standard, who are the best band of bastards as I'm likely to meet.

But now I ramble. And need to drink more, as I'm way too sober.

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