Or maybe not

...because what with all the books and other shite being packed, I've got nothing, nothing to do this evening. Bleh. Reading a hilarious (well, mildly amusing) book that was kicking about and practising bladder control just dont cut it as high-quality entertainment anymore. (Thanks for the many cups of tea today, people, it's been like the bloody outflow of the amazon all day....and I dont mean full of pirhanas).

Could almost do with having another bath, at least it'd pass the time! There are some more clothes to pack at a later moment, but the prospective excitement must be witheld for at least a little, otherwise I might just slit my wrists from the sheer, inexpressible boredom I am experiencing.

*sigh*

It's like this every time I move. I'm almost dreading the latter half of the week when, no TV or people to talk to in sight, I really will go nuts. I mean, proper nuts, not the everyday sort of nuts that forms the baseline of my life. Dear God, bloggardes, it's really quite a sad prospect! I've regressed to being an adolescent, thinking my every thought is deep and meaningful and full of pregnant revelation. Not so. I'm nowt special; and every day closer to death brings a little more silent dread of the next becomming. As read from an interview with the tasty Jake Gyllenhaal, "I feel most happy when I'm not using my intellect". So apposite. Time to sit on my cushion again and try not to try.

No, it's no good, I'm going to have to go and pee now.