Staring at ceilings

I feel compelled to write again this evening, as I find myself in a foul mood. I don’t know why though, which sort of makes it worse. I’ve actually had a nice, chilled, productive day. And yet, here I sit, with a terribly short temper. I hope it passes soon, as I don’t like feeling this way at all. My brain is so flooded with strange feelings that I can’t even focus on my mental totem for calming down. Perhaps I should just go to bed and wait for it to pass.

I’ve just bought a digital copy of Carol Reed’s The Agony and the Ecstasy. I love films about creative people but, of course, UK distribution of physical media has become almost non existent at this point. We’re so fucking lazy. I was going to order some other DVDs, but Amazon’s being weird about postage. My basket was up to £70, and yet they wouldn’t offer me free delivery. This happens sometimes, almost to fuck with you on purpose so you subscribe to Prime, then it all goes back to normal after a few days.

Bastards.

I’m not paying for that guy’s divorce.

I made that pizza earlier, which I found disappointing. I think it was actually very nice, but I was in the early stages of this foul mood. I should have known something was up. I have leftovers of yesterday’s chicken dish to finish, but my appetite has vanished all of a sudden.

The one thing I can usually rely on.

I don’t think I need to order booze for Tuesday, as I still have some remaining from my harmful binging last week. Golly, has it only been a week?! Time has gone so slowly recently.

My brother hasn’t replied to my text, so I assume he is indeed pouting as predicted.

And he wonders why we didn’t speak for about 15 years.

Oh I made a mistake in my last post when I said Kylie had taken a hiatus in the late 90s. Turns out Spotify just had her albums in the wrong order. Girl’s been working solidly for 35 years. Bless her little cotton socks. I’m impressed by her self-titled 1994 album. There’s definitely a shift from disposable pop to a more mature sound. I dare say it’s close to… well… art.

Speaking of art, I best go back to Charlton Heston arguing with the pope.

Good times.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!