I have all sorts of half-formed (or half-baked) ideas rattling around in my massive cranium. None of which is remotely sufficient to commit to electrons. Bah. It’s not writers block or anything, it’s just an all-pervading angry misery that’s gripped me these past few weeks. I can’t be bothered to think of anything so I just brood and bide my time until I can wash out the cobwebs with liberal applications of Mother Barley’s rude oil.
No carnivals for me this weekend, no Irish fests followed by raging keggers, I haven’t the slightest idea what I’ll do with my time. I know I’m not good company and people irritate me of late, ought to be tons of fun with my grandmother, mother, me and possibly my bro all in the non-a/c house together. Hopefully the decision is made early whether we’ll be travelling or sitting put all day – if the latter I can start drinking early.
Wow. That’s spectacularly depressing. But, what do you expect at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon? Sunshine and roses?