(no subject)
I am currently incredibly aware of all the bones in my feet.
Today I went to the Natural History Museum, took some photos which I will extract from my phone at some point, took strangefrontier around the inside-out animals exhibition and was temporarily very excited about capillaries even if I was mostly shouting about local politics and semeniferous tubules and elephant cock, discussed how both of us have contemplated running away to Antarctica before (this makes more sense for Holly than for me as she is an actual scientist and likes the cold and dark whereas I am a solar powered lizard poet person who is allergic to maths and should probably spend her entire life in the Mediterranean writing bad poems about gay sex only IT ISN'T THE 1890S SO I CAN'T); went on a walk through Hyde Park and St James Park and harassed some ducks and the sun was out for a little bit and it was all grand.
Except now I feel like refried ass, my feet are genuinely giant bags of bone, drunk people are fighting behind the pub downstairs in the optimistically-named "beer garden", I haven't finished editing the chapter I am supposed to be editing today yet (cannot work out what is filler and what is tension-building, at some point I need to send this highlights-covered thing to someone for a second opinion), and boom I am back to putting things off and putting them off.
Today I went to the Natural History Museum, took some photos which I will extract from my phone at some point, took strangefrontier around the inside-out animals exhibition and was temporarily very excited about capillaries even if I was mostly shouting about local politics and semeniferous tubules and elephant cock, discussed how both of us have contemplated running away to Antarctica before (this makes more sense for Holly than for me as she is an actual scientist and likes the cold and dark whereas I am a solar powered lizard poet person who is allergic to maths and should probably spend her entire life in the Mediterranean writing bad poems about gay sex only IT ISN'T THE 1890S SO I CAN'T); went on a walk through Hyde Park and St James Park and harassed some ducks and the sun was out for a little bit and it was all grand.
Except now I feel like refried ass, my feet are genuinely giant bags of bone, drunk people are fighting behind the pub downstairs in the optimistically-named "beer garden", I haven't finished editing the chapter I am supposed to be editing today yet (cannot work out what is filler and what is tension-building, at some point I need to send this highlights-covered thing to someone for a second opinion), and boom I am back to putting things off and putting them off.