These beta-blockers are killing me.
I’ve never known exhaustion like it. Julia and I were meant to hot-foot it down to Brighton today but my body begged for bed. She stayed awhile though, making cups of tea and saying things like ‘you silly little whistle, my little grasshopper.’ Then we made pancakes. I’ve never seen her eat pancakes before and she does it in a funny way; she rolls them tight up like cigars and chomps them down, chomp chomp chomp, with sugary lemony lips.
It’s nice to hold hands with a good friend, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s even better than going on an adventure.
Christ I’m so tired. Tireder than when my three day Glastonbury speed-experiment went terribly wrong. Tireder than twenty bottles of ambien. Tired enough to use the word ‘tireder.’
I keep closing my eyes for a few minutes and when I open them i feel suddenly renewed, and I think to myself ‘ah, there you are, all ya needed to do was rest the old peepers for a while’, and then the exhaustion hits me again like a brick wrapped up in a marshmallow wrapped up in a brick wrapped up in a marshmallow wrapped up in a brick…
And Toscar’s meant to be coming over tonight to indulge in some euphemisms (“let’s listen to the new Shambles album, let’s get some booze in, let’s, let’s, let’s…”)