An Eidolon called Night
I am so tired that I feel like my fingers are typing through bubblewrap. What the HELL is this about?
Continuing on this distressed note, I have promised to hand in a working prototype of my third year project within two weeks. Expletives are forming in my brain and dissolving some time before they reach my padded digits. The thing doesn't even play a single game yet!
Hopefully I will get leave to sleep soon, and tomorrow I can begin the serious task of working on this Java behemoth. I wish myself luck. The bed is inviting and the body is willing, but the mind simply will not follow. It's possibly the slowest organ in my body at times, and I've got some slow ones I'll tell you.
Perhaps I could try some of those meditation techniques which never quite work but which are so highly recommended by my mother? I wonder if I should seriously consider going to a retreat my personal tutor mentioned to learn some serious stuff about mediation. It could be a useful tool, if sufficiently refined, and if not at least I'll know something more about my limits.
Eugh. Feel sick. I made triple-chocolate brownies on Tuesday evening, and I think I had too many. They're a bit too gorgeous. It's a shame that, of my three housemates, only one can eat them – the other two have given up chocolate for Lent or health. Really, things are nicer when you share them.
'Gragh' looks like almost the right sound to expres my pain and longing in this semi-zombified state. I shall have to start using it, to test the word on for size.
I'm glad that my blog is about something important, unlike all those other blogs out there. None of them are about me, me, me. This is the only one. Isn't that great? Eh?
Quarter to three – let's try again, shall we?