Because for once my mother is right - it is theoretically possible that I'm not completely right about music 100% of the time. It's just, y'know, I forget that.
It's not been a bad day, per se, it's just been tiring; it's too hot again generally and after some things a couple of weeks ago I'm still feeling trapped whenever someone visits my house (with the welcome exception of notintheseheels, who can stay as long as she likes as far as I'm concerned) and I'm really sick of that. I don't like needing my space from people I genuinely like. I don't like being suddenly desperate for people to back off, and I don't like trying to find some way to tell them that's what I need them to do. In short I feel like an overwrought histrionic bitch this weekend, and nobody wants to feel like that except, possibly, Craig off of that Big Brother.
Still. The guy doing Morten Harket on Celebrity Stars In Their Eyes won, and I've (belatedly but delightedly) discovered the sheer joy that used to be 2wo Third3's fashion sense, I've got the title for my sixth covers album (Rococodamol, god I'm brilliant, or something), the synthesist wants to write a song called 'Gary Numan Loves Parrots', and I have a title for a book, though as yet no book to attach the title to. It's somewhere at the back of my mind, though.
I want to go to sleep, but since this is the only time I've had to myself today, it seems a pity to waste it. Then again, nobody's really awake or around to entertain me, and my bed is right there.