As further proof of my apparent mental instability, I realise that I have gained an inappropriate sense of satisfaction this morning from writing out a 'To Do' list of chores and, for the first time in about two years, have been going through and doing them. Sourcing pleasure from cleaning the kitchen is truely perverted. I am a total genetic throwback and terrible feminist. I should probably become blonde and start taking an interest in boys.
Have also been writing a couple of reviews (finished one and am half way through another), so I should get that finished today. Aim to write at least 250 words for this creative writing project I'm working on (you can imagine how well that's going - two weeks and three failed starts). I have this total creative block when it comes to writing - I'll get these ideas and be totally invested in the whole concept, understand where it's going and who the people are, sit down and... suddenly getting a coffee is the most important thing in the world. This, of course, must be accompanied by Friends reruns, then the basic couple of hours mooching on the internet. It's a disease. A lazy slackers disease.
Other than the household chores, I have a letter to write, then better send it off with C's birthday card here. Oh, urgh, and I have to get some research done for this essay. I think I have about a week and a half until it's due in (actually, probably less than that), but it's a total mother bitch and is likely to take some actual effort. Kind of dreading going and picking up the last one that's just been marked though. 'Half-arsed' is being a little indulgent. 'Shite' covers it more appropriately.
Ah, off to drudgery I go, then.
