Tiredness fills me. I am bored. Several things appear to be cluttering my screen (Pidgin, Transmission, Convo with Emily and of course, CD. All this takes up the confides of workspace 2. Suddenly I've found myself in an extremely comfortable position that with be destroyed as soon as I stand up to put the netbook back on my desk where it is awaited by the AC cable and a Celtic skull designed to ward off ghosts. I can feel some fluffy hairs on my chest. My light is so bright it puts my ginger circus tent to shame. Why the fuck is that Tartan Army flag still up on my wall? God that lingering taste of Andy's Pop tarts in my mouth is spectacular. My brother googled me and showed pictures of me drunk to my dad in hope that he'd obtain the spot as number one son. Dear oh' dear my toes are such .iso files it's unbelievable.
Currently bouncing on my bed - terrain seems a bit... solid to the point where I feel as if not a single step I take can result in the demise of my nimble footwork.
Currently bouncing on my bed - terrain seems a bit... solid to the point where I feel as if not a single step I take can result in the demise of my nimble footwork.