NaNoWriWee

I'm sitting at home.

Home-home, that wonderful place with heating and food and tidy people. I vacuumed the stairs today, just as I daydreamed, and it's making me smile all funny. I pray to a benevolent yet mysterious deity that my mother has given up reading this blog, or I'll never live this down.

I did actually write a semi-significant post yesterday, one with actual content and revelations about the ever-fascinating trivia of my life, but ntl decided to crash and it got saved to the housemate's laptop.

So I should really come up with something interesting to write here.

Ha. Haha.

Piss off and go and write your own blogs you lecherous leeches of other people's lives. I hate you all, I hate myself, I hate grammatical sentence structure, I hate the alphabet, I hate basic concept communication, and I hate whatever primitive life form started the whole thing off. Anybody that ever learnt to read can go shove the ever increasing number of volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary up their rectum and learn to swim with the control of only their left big toe.

I hate myself and want to die. I am a talentless hack.

I'm really going to have to find a proper blogger to let me know what the official consensus is on the statistical relationship between "number of regular readers" and "strength and frequency of abuse in entries." Maybe I should lay off a little.

I hate myself and want to die. I am a talentless hack.

I've written over 5000 words so far today, and there has been no coffee and only caffeine free diet coke involved. I've got another 5000 to write tonight before I'm allowed sleep. Then I have to get myself up again tomorrow, write another 10000 words, and then do the whole thing again on sunday.

I'm still maintaining that NaNoWriMo is possible. Just not particularly probable or conducive to socially acceptable behaviour. I suppose that should have been obvious. The whole thing has turned into a nightmare NaNoWriWeekend.