It's plausible, nay likely, that I've completely run out of steam with the whole blogging lark. Through four years (or something) of existence, there have been large periods without any entries at all, but never before has there been a period with quite such an irresponsible lack of humour as that in which we currently reside. I never said the bloody thing had to make you laugh, but invariably at least one post in four (87% of statistics are made up on the spot, remember. Also worth noting 87 is my favourite number) had some humourous element. I've sacked all that off now, though, haven't I? It's dropped down to 1 in 14,000 or so (roughly. I've not broken out the Casio on that particular calculation), which is frankly lame. I put it down to working too hard, and also to a lack of sunshine, an imposition forced by my current office-based work schedule. I therefore plan to remove the upper layers of my office building, and work in the glorious sunshine in which we currently bask, like basking sharks without all the fins.
Sometimes I go out by myself, and I stare across the water. Except that I'm not actually one of the Zutons, and I only know a couple of people called Valerie (my aunt, my landlady), and I don't live near all that much water. Unless you count the pond, and let's face it, staring out over three feet of murky, tadpole infested water isn't really what they're getting at, right? I think what I'm trying to say is that I'd like to go out sometimes, and stare across the water.
I raised the idea of moving to Australia recently, in a roundabout sort of way. Which is to say I said I wanted to live there, and that it was great, and Jen said 'do you want to move there?'. On sunny days, when I'm working for someone else's profit, I wonder what it would be like. I love my life here, to be honest. I don't love my work, but then that's nothing unexpected. Sometimes I desperately want to write. Oh shit, it's all gone a bit random and directionless again. I'm out of here.