Or some shite like that.
Work tomorrow. Which, while not bad — it gives me something to do to distract part of my vast intellect, and it pays — is not exactly something I look forwards to. Then again, I'm not in much of a mood tonight for looking forwards to anything. Melancholy, that's the word. Or at least, I hope it is. For some reason I want to stand outside with just my trenchcoat and a cigarette and think about the path not taken. Long for lost girlfriends, that sort of thing.
Which is, quite frankly, bollocks. Out of my diminutive tally of serious ex-girlfriends, there's not much to long after. One nutcase, one junky. coaldustcanary is better than any amount of them put together. I'm happy with her, and love her like no other. Which is why it's so odd that I want to look back. The road less travelled is that way for a fucking reason, and that's because it was the equivalent of sliding down a razorblade with only my bollocks for brakes. And a bucket of TCP to land in. Must just be a bizarre form of early Monday Morning Syndrome. I do want a cig, though.
It should be raining outside. There should be thunder.
: Mercians can substitute iodine or something else that really fucking stings.