Since Obi-Wan Kenobi has revealed himself to be a terrible liar, it occurs to me that he might have been exaggerating about what he felt about the destruction of Alderaan:

Assuming that existing polls hold (there is a paucity of polls in the remaining primaries—there's only really data for CT, MD, PA, CA, and NJ, and absolutely nothing from all of May) and using the national polling data as a guide for how the states without data will go (538 has Clinton at 49.4% and Sanders at 41.7% nationally which will be wildly inaccurate in a lot of states—a lot of those smaller states will probably go heavily towards Sanders—but it's all we've got) there's no realistic way for Clinton to get 2,383 pledged delegates before the convention (she'll probably have just under 2,000 pledged delegates by the end of the DC primary.)

So it's been a little more than a month since I stepped away from Friendfeed. To be honest, I didn't expect to be gone this long. I really did need to take a break though. My initial intention was to walk away for a few days and let the threads fall off my front page, and let my temper cool. But work got really busy, and the past month ended up being pretty rough. The whole episode pretty much took a back seat to everything else I had to deal with. But the longer I stayed away, the more I felt that I had to work through why I got so pissed off before I came back.

You may scoff at this as being mere political correctness, but I say it's about precision.

I reached inside myself and found
nothing there to ease the pressure of my ever worried mind.
All my powers waste away.
I fear the crazed and lonely looks the mirror's sending me these days.

For various reasons, including a conversation this morning of which details I will elide at this point in time, I am feeling extraordinarily alone today. It could be simply because I've run out of one of my medications. I still have plenty of the other one, and I think taking it on its own might have simply unmasked some of my bipolar tendencies. I found myself laughing out loud a lot today, and, like the stereotypical manic, I went on an absurd shopping spree, spending money I definitely do not have. Then, of course, I would have histrionic dialogues going on in my head. (They're not voices, damn it.) I've probably swung between abject depression and ludicrous joy at least seventeen times today.

“The Ring,” “Ringu,” Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk, Pattern Recognition by William Gibson, and all sorts of random trivia emanating from my obviously cracked brain

She sits five feet away from me, yet it might as well be a light-year
 I have no hope of bridging the gap
        no hope of filling the chasm
                yet still I long…
Perhaps it is only wishing to finish what I started
    come to a clean end and get on with my life
But the stillness in my heart keeps me frozen in place
   Slowly dying with every breath.
Perhaps it is only wishing to share my heart freely
     to worry not of receiving pain and sorrow
     but only giving joy and laughter
        without counting the cost.
Yet my heart is as heavy as stone, hard as rock
  and I grow cold and numb with each passing second
           If only I were brave, and the stillness in my heart were broken
             then I could do what I needed to do
             and face the consequences no matter how dire
                  I could live.
           But I'm not brave.