I am looking forward to this week, simply because I have absolutely nothing planned. No concerts, no birthdays, no nights out, no Christmas parties – nada. I am going to work, sleep, then work again… and it will be lovely in it’s lethargy.
My wick is whacked. My midnight oil is burnt. My liver could probably be sold to medical science as a freakishly resilient oddity. I’m thankful for all my friends and the accompanying healthy social life – but I honestly want to move to a cabin in the woods Kazinsky-style, write a rambling manifesto about cheese and speak only to squirrels.
Don’t cry for me. There are worse problems to have. But do go and go see Ocean’s Twelve. It was surprisingly excellent.
My Liver feels like the English National Rugby Team has been kicking it around the pitch all day.
I am Monster’s Liver – I am going to commit suicide before I shrivel up and slowly die – better to burn out then to fade away.