Hope you're feeling a bit perkier. And that your teeth are better. Have you tried drinking till you fall over? Some people swear by it, although after having a christmas pudding flavoured ale yesterday I have gone right off alcohol.
If you're thinking of 'doing a Sylvia' at least spare the world any self-indulgent autobiographical novels before you toddle off this mortal coil. If you're in it for the long haul, try and remember what John Stuart Mill said, that it's better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied.
Read anything interesting? Found a better job? Put a downpayment on your moors hovel yet?
John Stuart Mill can piss off. I'd be the pig anyday.
I'm feeling a WHOLE lot better, ta, after some retail therapy (God, how I conform to the superficial female stereotype) and some Shawshank Redemption, arms to the sky, self-evaluation moment, only not as dramatic (lack of rain) or insightful.
If only we could transmit smells over the internet you could get a noseful of the stale, rotting-blood breath I intend to charm my fellow workers with tomorrow. I'm still on the insurance treadmill - two grand (plus student loan) towards hermit haven on moor.
Sod me though. This is what happens when I feel a little self-pity (and am denied cigarettes and meat for a weekend) - horrendous indulgent posts on journal. Dish on thesis, shelf-stacking, and poverty.
PS. Aren't christmas puddings supposed to be flavoured with ale and not vice versa. Which Dr. Moreau cooked that up?
It is, as you say, a shame I won't be able to experience the whole rotting-blood thing. Have you started eating carrion or something? I should also probably deliver some sort of smug ex-smokers lecture on the evils of cigarettes but I'm feeling magnaminous today
( ... )
I knew it! You are a secret capitalist! Who else would dream of diving into a pit of money ala Scrooge Mcduck.
Perhaps you might have a reverse mid-life crisis, where you suddenly feel the urge to don pinstripes, chat loudly into your mobile, and beat homeless tramps with your overpriced umbrella, as you barge past pregnant women on the tube to take the last seat - hhmmm.
You probably deserved to get ill after having a roast duck and cheese pizza, but Goddammit, now I'm curious as to what duck and cheese tastes like together.
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If you're thinking of 'doing a Sylvia' at least spare the world any self-indulgent autobiographical novels before you toddle off this mortal coil. If you're in it for the long haul, try and remember what John Stuart Mill said, that it's better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied.
Read anything interesting? Found a better job? Put a downpayment on your moors hovel yet?
Reply
I'm feeling a WHOLE lot better, ta, after some retail therapy (God, how I conform to the superficial female stereotype) and some Shawshank Redemption, arms to the sky, self-evaluation moment, only not as dramatic (lack of rain) or insightful.
If only we could transmit smells over the internet you could get a noseful of the stale, rotting-blood breath I intend to charm my fellow workers with tomorrow. I'm still on the insurance treadmill - two grand (plus student loan) towards hermit haven on moor.
Sod me though. This is what happens when I feel a little self-pity (and am denied cigarettes and meat for a weekend) - horrendous indulgent posts on journal. Dish on thesis, shelf-stacking, and poverty.
PS. Aren't christmas puddings supposed to be flavoured with ale and not vice versa. Which Dr. Moreau cooked that up?
Reply
Reply
Perhaps you might have a reverse mid-life crisis, where you suddenly feel the urge to don pinstripes, chat loudly into your mobile, and beat homeless tramps with your overpriced umbrella, as you barge past pregnant women on the tube to take the last seat - hhmmm.
You probably deserved to get ill after having a roast duck and cheese pizza, but Goddammit, now I'm curious as to what duck and cheese tastes like together.
Cigarettes today: 11 (= stressful day)
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Reply
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