The Sleeper Is Still Fucking Sleeping.

Yesterday I woke up in a positively filthy mood and I moped and pouted so badly that my mom was forced to buy me stuff even though by the time she had gotten back from golf and the shops with all my tat I was completely over it. It is a neat tactic albeit a little immature and I never really thought it would work, but someone now has plates to go with their Angelica Kauffman bowls so you can just judge away.

I've actually acquired so much tat during my excursion in the land of extended crew cabs and polarized wrap arounds that I may need to load up the F150 to get it all back down to LA. It certainly isn't going to fit in the overhead compartment of an Airbus, but I fear there may not be enough Erasure to get me all the way down the I 15 and we may have resort to God for fucking forbid Moby.

But until that nightmare scenario arrives  I'm still languishing away, absolutely desperate for Marmite. I'm still having toast bread for breakfast, but what is really the point? One can forgive me if I take the occasional moody. Now that I am working the days are now forming an altogether familiar pattern:

I wake up, I don't check my make up. I log on to my work shit, I click on some shit until I get bored, I surf the internet, then I check my real twitter, people are pissed and I read about it until I get bored, I check my trolling twitter, look at pictures of hot rugby players and then I start to troll all the Susan Sarandon trollers until that gets boring and I go back to my work until I am bored with that again, I check the Insta which is boring AF, I check into duolingo and practice my French, then I practice my Welsh, then curse my progress in both. I've taken a shower at some point in there, I miss my barber in LA and I hate my hair which at this point is looking more and more like an overgrown Chia pet.

Some variation of these activities repeat in no particular order until I have been logged into a database and been active enough within that database to warrant some faceless lady named Sally to authorize the deposing of money in my account the following week. Jesus, when I write it down it actually seems even more depressing than IRL.

But they say a change is as good as a rest, and this rest may be becoming slightly too prolonged, but another change may be coming courtesy of my good friend Pony, but that has not been confirmed, but more on that when and if it is confirmed.