Feeling kinda lackadaisical these days. Also feeling FAT. Honestly, this whole winter-fattening thing is totally upsetting. I can put on three kilos of clothing, just don't let it be three kilos of FAT. Today, it's three kilos, next year it'll be fifteen, flicking through FaceBook photos of myself in my 'glory days' and most terribly - a few more years and I'll be jumbo the whale or something. Or just a jumbo whale.
I mean seriously is it that hard to get a model-body?
Answer? YES.
Onto more serious matters, I'm tired, drained and generally just wish to feel happy/attractive/WARM. I find that on the rare occasion I *do* feel warm - those ten minutes just before 'awake' in a cocoon of blankets - I am thrown out of said comfyness almost immediately. I swear, if my father could just get the heating fixed, I would... I dunno, do something dramatic.
I need to start writing properly again. Short stories are better than nothing. I don't suppose I can expect to write the Great Australian Novel In The Style of the Great European Novel That Does Not Have Any Reference to Arvos, Snags, Budgie Smugglers Or Any Place Name That Involves More Than Four Vowels when I'm seventeen with a chip on my shoulder, but, well Zadie-frickin'-Smith did it.
I'm a fucking snob/sob story, I know.
They paved paradise & put up a parking lot...
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