(no subject)
Everyone on my friends list seems to be doing interesting things, and I feel like I can't play because my life is such a desert of eventlessness at the moment that I have almost nothing to talk about. Of course you would expect that from the daily office stuff, but it's compounded by the fact that I seem to be spending most of my evenings at the moment wasting time on the Xbox instead of doing something productive - like for example trying to meet just one of my creative writing deadlines for a change so the tutor stops hassling me.
Partly it has all been a function of the weather, which for the last few days has just been this horrible mess of wind and rain and grey skies, so that I can't actually remember the last time I saw the sun. My reading has deteriorated after I finished Pynchon - I am halfway through a great Karen Armstrong book, except that I keep abandoning it in favour of a book of Buffy comics which I'm not even enjoying. I wish I believed in biorhythms or star signs or something so that I could attribute my mood to something other than myself.
Speaking of Buffy, sort of, the new series of Torchwood starts tonight, now featuring James Masters as well as John Barrowman, thereby making all of Hannah's dreams come true. And I believe it's implied that the two of them share some kind of sexual history, which suggests that Russell T Davies has some predilection for slash stories and internet fan-fics. . .
I promise that if I am this bored and uninspired in a couple of days, I will leave the house and not come back until something ridiculous has happened to me which I can write about.
Partly it has all been a function of the weather, which for the last few days has just been this horrible mess of wind and rain and grey skies, so that I can't actually remember the last time I saw the sun. My reading has deteriorated after I finished Pynchon - I am halfway through a great Karen Armstrong book, except that I keep abandoning it in favour of a book of Buffy comics which I'm not even enjoying. I wish I believed in biorhythms or star signs or something so that I could attribute my mood to something other than myself.
Speaking of Buffy, sort of, the new series of Torchwood starts tonight, now featuring James Masters as well as John Barrowman, thereby making all of Hannah's dreams come true. And I believe it's implied that the two of them share some kind of sexual history, which suggests that Russell T Davies has some predilection for slash stories and internet fan-fics. . .
I promise that if I am this bored and uninspired in a couple of days, I will leave the house and not come back until something ridiculous has happened to me which I can write about.