So here's the trouble.
My current plan is to go to sleep, wake up, and drive to New York, all daisy fresh and cheerful and whatnot. Perhaps I'll stop at some style of megastore and buy some new music, perhaps not.
The trouble is, though, that I'm not tired. Not remotely. There is a comfortable bed several feet from me, and I'd love to go over there and crash out on it, but the impulse to crash out is not yet existant. It refuses to well up in me and take dominance. I'm just here, awake, and, horrors! Feeling PRODUCTIVE, like I should go make sure every little thing is packed, so that I can jet out as soon as I wake up, which I'll never do if I never sleep.
This is a job for Valerian, I suppose, except that I'd hate to drive all that way burping up that terrible ass flavor.
Really, this is just a job for whining.
WHIIIIIIIIINE.
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1 comment:
Reading this after you drove to New York, stayed for several days, and then left, all I can say is - problem solved?
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