(no subject)

My evilness knows no bounds.

I killed John Walton with the image of Margaret Thatcher sex.

Happeeee

I have shiteloads of absinthe (a whole 250 or so ml glass, and trust me, that's heaps; about four or five standard drinks, I'd say), some cool candles, and the house to myself. I'm going to take myself to the bath and write, Marat-style. No Charlottes allowed.

(no subject)

I reserved my copy of Harry Potter today. Now I go to the magical place where I sleep, where I shall collapse until some godawful hour of the morning, when I shall get up, go to the city, and purchase my copy.

Not sure if I'll make it to the 9am opening. I feel rooted.