Tired

[smokingboot]

There isn't one clear thought lurking in my head.

Of Saturday; wonderful to spend the evening with excellent chums, but naff music at Eddies in Brum. Some interesting people - a guy with latex elf-ears, spiked hair a la Johnny Rotten, and a quasi-military victorian long coat, a white winged fairy obviously wondering where the rave was, and a seven foot salad with transvestite ambitions - but hardly Babylon. You know you're in trouble when you hide in the arms of Depeche Mode and The Human League. Christ.


Strange dream; a teacher demanding that I say something, anything, in French, but even in the dream, I was utterly exhausted. I could barely lift my head, and yet the teacher was so insistent, they/he/she just wanted to hear me speak. I finally managed to mumble half a phrase or two - I even mispronounced the teacher's name - and then that was it, and I found I had completed a course or a degree or something.


Of Sunday; Too tired, can't remember anything except cuddling up to larians and watching Sean Bean thwart the corrupt aristos of the Prince Regent's court.And spilling beer all over everything (me, that is, not Sean Bean).

Today has no definition. Kitties at the vet, head full of rubbish. Really must sleep.