In case you haven't figured it out already for yourself, the upcoming weeks will feature severely reduced blogging on my behalf. Even my upcoming review of Glenn Greenwald's No Place to Hide will have to wait. The reason is this sports tournament currently taking place in Brazil: I was already short on sleep before, but now when interrupted sleep is the rule rather than the exception then some things have to give. For now, quality computer time it is. [Have no worry, I still spend the bulk of my waking hours in front of a screen.]
For me, the most obvious aspect of this World Cup so far has been the lack of a father to exchange notes with. My father's favourite hobby was watching [and falling asleep in front of the] TV, so imagine what a hell of time he would have had with this one! Especially when considering that to date there was only one draw (thank you very much, Iran; yes, I'm picking on you - it's in fashion), and plenty of goals. As in, teams are playing for the win, not for the draw.
Which reminds me. I was talking to a work colleague about the unexpected effects of losing my father. He had an interesting point. He asked me "how old are you?", to which I answered "X". Well, he said, "you are used to having your father for X years, and now - for the first time in your life - he's gone."
So maybe I'd go back to normal by the time I'm 2X years old.
Image by Breno Peck, Creative Commons (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) licence