melancholyI've done my expedition to Clapham Junction to try and find a gang phone socket with more than three holes. I couldn't. It was early and raining, but Wayne and Waynetta were already up and about in rampant legions. I'm feeling too fragile for all that...
The more grotesquely grim my situation gets, the more I find the music in my head is really goofy, kick-ass nonsense. This morning I have been mostly wandering around alternating between hopeless snivelfits, and 'Wop-Bam-Boom!...I'm a wild an' a untamed thing-', alarming the cat.
I am about to pull out all plugs to try and get the phone functional, although I still can't move properly, and will probably end up like a flipped turtle on the floor, feebly trying to get back up, with a million electric leads throttling me like Lacoon. Fuck it.Let's roll.
(Re: The Pain, The Pain... R next door assures me that it's quite typical after a spill of that type. ('You vill have it for two veeks at least, that way-')and she should know, as she did a lot of getting flung from great heights in her youthful showjumping career.
