It is Sunday night and rather predictably I am sleepless. Vista SP1 has completely raped my computer of all use except blogger and porn, and porn is boring once you've actually had sex and know what it's like, something which happened for me on December 27th 2001 at about 9.10pm (I looked at the clock, alright?)

This evening has been consumed by plots and plans for a Friday night acting like a hippie celebrating something that happens every single day. My tone may be mocking, but part of my general philosophy on life is that we should do that anyway. Life may just be something that happens while you're making plans, and in 10 years today will be pretty insignificant, but I'd like to think that I enjoyed it.

I do hope Nic can come and join the festivities, as she is pretty great and I have had a nice stoner weekend with her. I have discovered that my fond memories of being stoned weren't rose tinted because I actually quite enjoy it, and that I act like a bit of a penis when stoned. Also when not stoned. But I tend to say the things I usually just think, and it reveals the fact that I am absolutely, pants-wettingly neurotic.

I am so desperately skint I can't even tell you, this week is going to be amusingly hard up! Skipping lunch might actually do some good for the weight I had lost recently (not much, I grant you, but enough to rediscover hipbones I thought I had lost) - however, this whole losing weight thing is a wagon I have fallen off spectacularly thanks to aforementioned stonerism and the munchies that followed. I woke up, cold, with a corner of duvet hanging out of my mouth. My bed only served to keep me lifted above the crisp packets and takeaway boxes. I don't think I so much fell off the diet wagon as the boards beneath me buckled and I crashed weightily onto the tracks.

I'm hungry.