(no subject)
I hate wearing my super-baggy jeans now, because I'll be walking down the corridor and I'll think someone's chasing me.
So I'm sat in my room, unwashed, filthy clothes, because it's Sunday and it's how my God demands I spend my time on the sabbath, eating cinnamon grahams in what can only be described as a nest because it's so full of crap and debris that calling it a room would be misleading, reading Plato's Republic, because if I'm ever going to write an essay about that most overrated of philosophers, I really need to know the material.
Anyway, I've ploughed through that literary mire of beard-stroking and barely-repressed homosexuality, and I'm going to start writing the essay tomorrow, so you can look forward to my becoming gradually more grumpy and dishevelled as I try to resist kicking off at Socrates so hard that it ripples back through time, causing him to piss himself during his weekly trip to the Acropolis.
I miss real food.
So I'm sat in my room, unwashed, filthy clothes, because it's Sunday and it's how my God demands I spend my time on the sabbath, eating cinnamon grahams in what can only be described as a nest because it's so full of crap and debris that calling it a room would be misleading, reading Plato's Republic, because if I'm ever going to write an essay about that most overrated of philosophers, I really need to know the material.
Anyway, I've ploughed through that literary mire of beard-stroking and barely-repressed homosexuality, and I'm going to start writing the essay tomorrow, so you can look forward to my becoming gradually more grumpy and dishevelled as I try to resist kicking off at Socrates so hard that it ripples back through time, causing him to piss himself during his weekly trip to the Acropolis.
I miss real food.