Eight hours sleep later and

Eight hours sleep later and I’m sitting in my duvet looking out of my back window thinking of all the things I should be getting done today, trying to find a mantra to run through my head.

Threw my bad fortune
off the top of
a tall building.
I’d rather done it with you.

I spoke to Ralph last night on AIM and he’s having trouble getting everything sorted out before coming to the UK and Europe. I didn’t really know what to suggest. I spoke to Evil Michael too. Apparently we are the cognescenti. We get the privilege of being smug because at least we understand what’s going on around us, even if we don’t like it much. I didn’t really know what to say. My cannister of Tsarin gas overfloweth. Thank the lord for prevailing winds. This early morning stream of consciousness missive will be my last word on the subject. My neck hurts again.