bulk :: 13st 8
exercise :: none
even remotely sexual things :: none
back pain :: niggling, proscriptive
marks out of ten for the week :: 5
I’ve got nothing.
All week I’ve been writing this thing I’ve been writing. Trying to. And succeeding for the most part. Monday was a washout though. In the meantime I’ve bitten the bullet and sent out a couple of feelers for proper jobs. Nothing snapping my hand off as yet, but it’s the principle of the thing that’s a bit saddening. I don’t want to do that rubbish if I can help it. I know, I know. Boo hoo.
Seriously though, I’ve got nothing. I’m listening to Eartha Kitt (Ben loves Eartha), I’m using eBay for the first time to try and get myself a chair (back still fucked – next week professional help), my room stinks of abramelin (Crowley’s own concoction apparently, which contains menstrual blood – thanks, Frank), I’m trying to write this thing I’m trying to write and I’m gearing myself up for another weekend without the internet.
That’s it. Oh, and I found this in Ben’s room. Not that I was prying. Found it under his mattress. I can’t help feeling it’s slightly more disturbing than finding weird porn.
I didn't really find it under his mattress by the way - it was in between a couple of books. When I quizzed him about it, Ben said he used to want to be a knitting pattern model, like this guy.
Like that explains anything.
People eh? So, I'm off out in a moment to run some errands and then get uproariously drunk.
And you? What you up to this weekend? Anything OUTRAGEOUS? Tell me at once.