May 2nd, 2002 - 10:25 p.m.

Boredom, inability, ridicule, and hoping.

So, if nothing happens soon of any entertainment value, I think I shall... shall... oh bother, all that shall happen is that I will be quite bored. Yes. Excruciatingly bored. Lethargy settling like sediment after a pond has gone through a minor disturbance. Though, (working with this imagery) its bottom pointed with rockiness and shards of glass.

Cannot write. This process of forcing words out of the brain can currently be likened to the squishing of insects and hoping the crushed exoskeleton and various innards will form some type of semi-poetic drivel. Me being the unfortunate insects.

And yes, she did just refer to her writing as semi-poetic drivel. Self ridicule being the only form of entertainment that does not make the lungs bleed.

Bah. I need my city and reliable modes of public transport. This shall blow over soon?

N.

�