I have been having very fevered dreams of late. Involving canoes and chips and being guilty of murder but noone knowing and wondering if I should just keep quiet or maybe just tell my mum.
I cannot contemplate getting on the S Bahn any more.
On the floor this morning I found just the lower legs of a pair of jeans, presumably the Flatmate decided she just couldn't take any more of jeans' shit and wanted to go with shorts instead.
I have been having loud conversations with the weather for ages now. A minute ago I looked up from Facecrack just long enough to hurl a "stop winding you bastard" over my left shoulder. Hardly polite, or grammatically correct.
It's not even that warm today. Crikey.