There is nothing in my tummy. I'm running out of money. My limitless talents are of no help. I wasalmost talked into lending a friend £500 that I don't have, because she was a girl in need and the closest thing I have to a buddy at the moment.
I got home yesterday to find a big old parcel, could it be the Bowlie Round 19 mixCD at long last?
No, it was even better
A friend from the internet's sexblogger community had sent me a load of goodies. Much skipping round the house and making 'eep'noises.
Managed to send off one Just Joans CD, at long last. Only another five to do, then the overwealming waves of guilt will begin to subside.
Ooh, memories of talking to people at a gig the other day. I could do with chatting to people I don't know more often than I do.
I've branched out, inspired by the parcel, I wrote a bit of erotic writing over on the nuddy site. Most of my traffic comes from non-English speaking countries so it could be a bit of a waste, but it was worth a try. Have a strange urge to exorcise daemons by writing more of that sort of thing, but again feel doubt that making up for a lack of social/sex life with fiction can only be wrong wrong wrong.