November 24th, 2005

(I've tried patience)

Slightly more coherent version

There was a fairly monosyllabic expression of how much it all sucks here a while ago, but, eh. I'm all right, really. Just ill, which is one of my least favourite states of being; half the back of my throat is so swollen I could paint a small mural on it at the moment, and it hurts. Of course, I am too scared of doctors to go to a doctor about it, so I just have to keep drinking water and hope it'll go away on its own.

Some of Cambridge was a bit...well, y'know - but The Calling was saved from being a bleak night of watching people get [drunk/wound up/off with inappropriate tree-dwellers] by Chris, who appears to remain the only sane person in Cambridge. If only they came pocket-sized in boxes, etc etc.

But now I'm home, which is good, and The F Word is on tonight, which is good, obviously, and everything else I'll just. Hide from. I hate being ill.

Like many people, I expect, I feel strange for posting anything about myself at the moment; I don't have anything of my own to add to the memories of Tal, though. I'm reading everyone's.

E.
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  • Current Music
    'Oxygène (Part 2)', Jean Michel Jarre.
(I've tried patience)

(no subject)

My head is a very silly place, and currently it is home to a drunken, sarcastic restaurant critic plotting ways to spit-roast kill, damn it Jonathan Ross.

The F Word is not good for my sanity. It doesn't half make me laugh, though.

Oh, and also, I've achieved MSN Messenger (usual e-mail address and that) although it's complicated and ghastly, so if I don't talk to you with it, I'm probably somewhere across the room shouting 'Why don't you make any sense?!' at it.

E.
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