And so I am.
THERE'S NOTHING TO BLOODY DO.
That felt good. But it didn't in any way alleviate the situation. What we're talking about, is what happens when, after your four o'clock tea, you finish your last book, your thoughts swirling with how the end could have been better, and what to do next.
The thought hits. What the hell is there to do now?
I'm not saying there isn't anything to do. The problem is, nothing comes to mind.
I think I've had it with this blog. Epicureanism means nothing can hold attention for long.
This blog's reached its entropy limit. I shan't delete it yet, but I don't know if I'll continue. It's better to just keep posting stories mindlessly on my other blog.
Well, if I do post again, the first one will have a picture of me eating my words, literally. That should teach me. But until then, sayonara, au revior.