Thursday, 1 July 2010
On living the dream
It's 23:43. I'm listening to this and I've drank enough tea and coffee to leave myself cruisin' through that strange zone where you're not sure what you need; food, water, sleep or just simply to vomit. Or less simply, all bodily functions at once.
It's summer, I'm not quite as char-grilled as I'd like, but I've still got time on my side. I've not received a single insect bite, I've slept in a tent a few times and I've probably drank enough vodka to fell a Russian baby. I haven't read any books for a while, but I have made a few cakes. I've planted some herbs and some spinach. I've made friends with some Geese. Shoes are an unnecessary accessory (until I full-on trod on a screw in the vegetable patch. Schooled me somewhat.) and my hair has successfully achieved the shade of "faded tangerine". Need more time in the sea. Sand exfoliation and unbridled naughtiness are the keys to centuries of victory.
It's now 00:32. I'm listening to this and I don't think I'll be able to sleep. In all honesty I had an iced black americano and two cups of tea, but I'm a complete and utter pussy when it comes to stimulants. (Caffeine is the furthest I've been/will go incase you were wondering.) My laptop battery is running low and the sheer heat it's kicking out may be enough to kickstart a nuclear reactor.
Tomorrow I will go back to work, where I'll undoubtedly complain lots and spill fucking cow's milk everywhere (including on myself, to further propel my rage) because my mind will be more concerned with when I'll next be down the beach. Or looking at a bumblebee.