I'm alone in the flat on a Friday night. 3 energy efficient bulbs light the room and save the planet, as I darken the mood and destroy my liver.
Wine, a Sauvignon Blanc Chardonnay sweats in my glass, anxiously dreading its downward spiral into my guttywuts.
iTunes callously selects a playlist of infinitely more depressing downbeat ditties to accompany my scratchy pen movements and incessant mouse clicks creating a 3D model of a product I have no intention of constructing, or using.
Johnny Mathos instructs me to have a Merry Christmas, his tones remind me of home, and a decade earlier when this time of year would have me giddy with anticipation. But no longer. Which brings me to growing up, and the first 9 words of this very blog.
I'm alone in the flat on a Friday night.
What the bloody hell happened. 2-3 years ago I would have been at a party, in a club, at the cinema or cruising round in one of the sixth form gang's motors. But alas, those days are over, I'd try my bloody hardest to claim them back, but my bones are ever so brittle now in my old age, I might just snap like my patience with this work if I ever tried.
Stephen Fry's voice beckons me as Qi begins.
Interest is lost in egotistical blogging.
Full stop.
*PUBLISH POST*
