|not that there's any point to this
||[Nov. 28th, 2010|10:43 pm]
I probably ought to get out more. Only I do feel terribly terribly poor these days. I have a great distaste for your conventional working hours, I am for ever tired again much of the time but my, my I must write (he tries to say again).
ATP this weekend mind, which I intend to make terrific fun.
Perhaps I am learning my view on the world, what with all this time? I mean perhaps, anyway. And such ludicrous promises I make my yet to be conceived children, such things!
I should do more about the house. I should have enough money to live a little bit. I should find a pretty girl or have her find me and find out what they taste like again. I should do away with women altogether and take up with a man, that would be the thing, that would be exciting. I wont even drink the much of this bottle of rum, there isn't the satisfaction to be had in it perhaps, or perhaps it's winter come on, still; these moments of vivid colours are something. and clarity or very like it.
there would be much to be said for a coherent world picture but I dare call it an indication of an all too narrow mind. break yourself apart a little.
and back to that rum.