iGrumble

Yesterday I fell asleep at eleven thirty and woke up in the middle of the night with the burning desire to write, so I scribbled out a poem and I went back to sleep. The next morning I wrote down two more of the bloody things -- one at the bus stop at the normal inhuman hour, and the other one lovingly crafted through motion sickness during a particularly badly-filmed recording of the Cambridge trip by someone truly sadistic.

I've been rather nauseatingly sick for the past week and have recovered only to be struck down with a new malady, motion sickness not included. Bad gothic poetry and worse math grades are its only solace.

more blogg updates when the september 'holidays' hit home. Some rapturous soliloquies are in order.