Thursday, 7 January 2010

I don't care if Moday's blue.

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too.
Thursday I don't care about you.
It's Friday, I'm in love.

Keeping busy is a ridiculous thing to tell someone when they want nothing but to sit around and mope in their own swirling vortex of procrastination, winter influenced misery and general sleepyness. The tasks that could be done are

*Various bits of revision
*Various bits of essays
*Various bits of reading
*Various bits of vinyl buying
*Various bits of scribbling

The world is my oyster. A disgusting, unsatisfying and distinctly unappealing oyster. It's times like this I usually either shave my eyebrows off, bleach my hair and embark in drunken escapades where in which I usually end up walking about four miles trying to get home with a lecherous former friend draped around my neck. Not all necessarily in that order. But my eyebrows have finally grown back in a way that resembles their former shapley state and my hair is still recovering from my last attack of dye and angst.

And I can't do all of the productive things above because

*Revision doesn't distract me
*Essays have to be done on the laptop, and I can't spend more than an hour on it until I get the glasses man to bless me with a pair of glecticles to stop my optic nerve from frying
*I have been reading, just not the right books, and I'm starting to get annoyed with my badly dubbed southern accent my brains decided to apply whenever I read 'The Sookie Stackhouse' Novels/Series/EPIC SAGA/why can't it just be books for a bloody change?
*I don't want to spend money. Simples.
*I suppose this would count as a scribble, just missing the ink. It's about as functional as a scribble anyway.

New Year. New inspirations. New inspirations for everyone to quit smoking, making them even all become the biggest nicotine, ravenous, evil creatures to ever grace the long suffering world. Then there's muggins in the middle of it, trying to keep her one track mind from repeating what the mime said the night before.

Last year I was so focussed on fixing myself. And going blonde (WHY?!). Now...?
But it's okay
God forbid I make a fuss.

It's Thursday, Robert Smith and yes, it is grey, just like all the other days.
Tomorrow is Friday, but I know I wont be in love.

YEUCH. That's a bit grim.


Linnet said...

Bah, I most certainly won't be in love tomorrow either. Let's have a Friday I'm In Love without "I'm In Love". Here, have a clove, some whiskey and the crackling of old vinyl. (:

Bodies said...

We can just simply be in love with not being in love on that particular day and by Jove! it will be delightful!
Thank you lovely. The clove, whiskey and crackling is all very much appriecated. x