Die you zombie fruit flies! Die! Die!

Why is it that I only manage to write (original) notes when I'm just about losing my mind with paper writing? Is that all I'm good at? Complaining about writing (and, therefore, penning my own irony?)

I'm at that point in the evening after having spent all day writing / researching/ eating / writing some more / watching TV / revising / pacing / rethinking / talking on phone / reconsidering / mental exhaustion / descending into discouragement / self-doubt / self-loathing / transference of anger on paper, the Victorians, the course, prof, school, my entire academic career, back to me etc, etc

AND WHERE ARE THESE FRUIT FLIES FROM HELL SPAWNING FROM?

Yeah, it just might be that time to call it a night. I look forward to future ramblings containing light-hearted, happy thoughts.

HAPPY. happy. HAPPY. happy.

Yeah, I like Zoolander. Deal with it.

Smoke me a kipper, I'll be back for breakfast...hopefully.

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This pointless, self-absorbed blog has been brought to you by the letter Q. Just because it can never stand alone.