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[verbicide]

Seriously, I think there may be a media report later on explaining how I died of boredom today.

I'm tired. I'm cranky. I have a blister on my left heel. My stomach is upset.

I'm slowly wending my way through a dense manual and my heart's just not in it.

I've also spent my morning reading some treatise by some dumb man who wants public affirmation for his desire to screw around on his wife, the inanest interview of Cynthia Nixon on being a lesbian, a creepy article on parties for father's to celebrate their daughter's purity (where withholding your body to remain chaste = love) and slams today's sexually permissive environment and pop culture (where promoting yourself as a sex object = love) because making up your own mind to do what you want with your body for your own reasons is apparently too obscure a notion.

And Linda Holmes hasn't delivered her final commentary on Survivor yet, and I'm twitching to read it.

On the hilarious side though, there's this accompaniment to the recent spate of oceanic formalwear.

I want an iced chai, but I'm too apathetic to march myself outside to get it.

Plus it's drizzling, dammit.

And and and... everything is poop today.

MEH.