I should perhaps volunteer before writing any more that I have consumed two pints of cider this evening. If past experience is anything to go by, the alcohol will either unlock the Hemingway chunk of my brain that rarely even turns in it’s chair, let alone writes anything, or it will reduce me to a rambling incoherent imbecile. Maybe the three bars of chocolate I just ate will assist in avoiding the latter.
Maybe I should switch the kettle on and invest in a caffeine based insurance policy.
(2 minutes pass while I make a forgettable cup of instant coffee from the chemical laden instant coffee powder I acquired before returning from dinner).
I’m in a hotel again. The best part of three hundred miles from home. I will be a resident of this hotel until Friday afternoon, after which I will race home aboard the same dysfunctional trains that delivered me here this morning like a particularly tired and grumpy daemon.
It just occurred to me that my current level of tiredness (about 11 out of 10, if we were to attribute numbers to it) is almost certainly the product of having scraped myself out of bed at 5:30 this morning. I’m running on empty. Actually – that’s not quite true. I’m running on caffeine and chocolate from the shop across the plaza from the hotel. They have an offer on – selling three bars for a ridiculously low price. Three wrappers are now in my hotel room bin.
I had grand plans to watch the most recent episode of several television shows this evening, and to stay up into the early hours watching the results of the US Presidential Election, but fear I may fall asleep at any moment. Maybe I sleep now, and wake up in the middle of the night to check the results. Or not. We shall see.
This was yet another post about nothing at all. I’m becoming rather good at them, even if I do say so myself. Maybe it should be on my CV – “good at nothing”. Of course, I would need to explain to the reader that in this case “Nothing” is something.
I’ll shut up now.