Feel relatively good, all things considered - which means I feel terrible.
I just - despite my better judgement - returned a call from my sweetie. We didn't talk long, as I found myself getting irrationally upset about, well ... nothing at all, really.
I swear, quitting smoking feels exactly like what I imagine really bad PMS does.
I stumbled on a really interesting journal, probably wrote 500 words in response to a post within it - then in a fit of frustration deleted the entire thing - sorry about that, gensachichis: from an elaborate introduction/hope you don't mind I added you to nothing at all. Well, hope you don't mind that I did.
(Do I ramble? Well, I ramble; whaddya expect? Coherence? Hmph!)
Laura, I really am sorry for brushing you off when we talked just now - but, well ... yeah. Conherent Geoffrey not now right.
Oi. And I haven't even touched a bowl yet. Thank God I taped two episodes of the Simpsons and am gearing up to watch The Big Sleep on TVO after that.
There really is no point in carrying on with this, is there.
Young Geoffrey go ... do something else now.