I'm tired. Go away.

I feel next year's one-act play a-brewin' in me. It has to be a comedy, so I'm already panicking. It's tentatively titled "The Heist," and I'm working on it feverishly. We'll see if this goes anywhere.

I've been reading through the archives a bit, and I have come to the conclusion that I am impossibly boring. Really. It's not physically possible to be quite as mundane as I am; I only manage it through a whole mess o' metaphysics that I can't quite explain. From now on, I'll try to keep the posts action-packed...as action-packed as knitting can be.

Hey, go away. This time I mean it. And I know that you will, 'cos you told me as much. I should believe you; I really shouldn't have to worry. You only wanna make me happy, and if I say, "Hey, go away," you will. And no, you won't think better still that you ought to stay around and love me. You don't have a case. Don't ask me to my face. I don't think I love you. You are too androgynous to be my type, David.