It's taken me a couple of weeks to realise but I've stopped working on my shit book, mainly because having to think about characters and situations then writing about it scares me.
I'm smoking so much that I stripped my lungs bare at the weekend and hadn't felt the need to smoke at all today - until now, 8:30pm on a Monday night. It's all so terribly addictive, you see. Perhaps I need to get pregnant. So much for my 25-year-old self telling me I'll give up by my Thirtieth ~ I hit that skidmark four years ago.
I'm also snacking somewhat. I can't help it. There's something perfectly delicious about heaving your corpse to Friday then waltzing down to the local supermarket for a bottle of booze and a cheap bread disc covered in cheese and wrapped in plastic. I'd eat healthier, but it's so much harder, isn't it? Plus all this damn credit crunching and exorbitant food prices means it's only sensible to buy salt-saturated Buy-One-Get-One-Free bachelor chow.
When I've time on my hands, I'm Youtubing for Britain. I'm rediscovering Micky Disco from the Fast Show, and wondering if North Korea's only Internet-ready computer is in fact being used by some cunt in their government to flood us with lame propaganda. (Try it. Try a 'North Korea' search and marvel at the wealth of glorification to a twisted, evil, conscience-devoid murderous cult regime. Whilst not writing a book.)
I met a nice young lady on Friday. She works with a chum of mine who reads this blog and will probably wonder why I'm mentioning this. But it's the only interesting thing that's happened recently. Although I did give back massages to two more of his colleagues. I went home that night to browse Youtube til 5am and passed out for twelve hours.
There's nothing quite like waking up at five in the afternoon to make you feel really pointless.
Next week: Pills or Drowning; what's quicker?