Thus ...

... it is: I'm blegh.

I seriously need a weekend.

Luckily for me there's one coming up shortly. In it we shal perpetrate many instances of training's violence and there is a party scheduled when my oldest and dearest friend AnnA celebrates her birthday, probably in a manner unfathomable to the rest of humanity. I like her. Loads.

other than that ...

My bunny is still the same.

My girlfriend has stretched her neck again, this time in a near car accident (as opposed to a real accident) mainly brought on by the fact that hungarians have a weirdly coloured flag on the back of their cars and have the propensity to not look behind them when they change lanes. This is a bit of a fucked up thing, seeing as the chiropractor afterwards concluded that the only thing still in its place was her hair. The same hair she wants to have cut for quite some time now. So to what extend that was a positive remark remains to be seen.

Bleh.

Job is a bit useless too. Sometimes I have the feeling that working kills you an inch at a time. Sapping you of energy and strength and leaving you only a pension in a home for the elderly. But unfortunately, one needs money to do the thing that one ought to do. Like eating and having a home and stuff. I shall soon begin to participate in lotteries. I know that is completely pointless from a mathmatical point of view but in the end: 'It has to start somewhere, it has to start somewhen. What better place than here, what better time than now?'

Frans is cursing. He can't find some letter or other. Why do we pretend that all these little annoyances are even remotely worth our atention and effort?