ridiculously late to be awake

Dearest reader,

As I write this I have begun the next stage of my 'Anita Addiction' which means I am now reading book 8, though I have read 1-7 and naughtily number 14, I am still panicking over whether certain characters of whom I know live - die. Thus leaving me scared witless and yet still extremely caught up in each moment.

I am so tired that I may have to pass out any minute though I still think "I'll sleep when I'm dead" which was a quote spoken by Warren Zevon, though my thoughts are highly contrasted with another quote, "I love sleep, my life has a tendency to fall apart when I'm awake" by Ernest Hemingway... I think the conflict of interests comes down to two things:

I have to continue my existence as a student in around five hours and I feel as though there are never enough hours in the day to read, relax and enjoy the company of those that are loved.

Before I leave you I will share my quote of the day: "yesterday is just a memory, tomorrow is never what it is supposed to be" spoken by THE Bob Dylan.

Goodnight followers,

Bye-Z-Bye for now x

(02:50 AM)

I still say damn the titles

dearest reader,

I am writing to you from the comfort of my uncomfortable room, it is not so darkened during the day so I will not complain.

I have successfully dodged the sun again which makes me feel as though I should take an umbrella out as protection from this day forward, looking out of my dull little window at what appears to be weirdly curious weather for somewhere in Wales.

I have stumbled through another day as a student while constantly thinking of the evil only known as the 'Anita addiction', why make books so darned interesting and captivating I ask you?

As I am resisting my almost natural instinct to read I head off to do college work, finding it pointless and obscure (it isn't nearly as fun to read your own work) I reach out once again to the evil mind-controlling machine (that may actually be the laptop) in search of entertainment.

that's all for now,

bye-z-bye x

(16:28 pm)

damn the titles!

Dearest reader,

I am extremely tired to say the least. With work to be done and reading being a necessary must (due to an addiction of the 'Anita Blake' kind) there is no turning back.

As I write to you from the comfort of my uncomfortably darkened room I speculate upon what is... relevant, growing weary and painfully close to slumber I am aimlessly reaching out to a world of data and therefore search for something unreal to keep me from the evil salvation that is sleep.

I will tell of my day: I have battled the day to day life of a student in college, been to the depths of hell which is apparently a bookshop with books that are way overpriced (though they do have interior beautifully crafted leather bindings!) after being mocked by a fruit seller giving me a sixth orange when I only asked for five. Now to be confronted with my own stinging eyes and pained by the rhythmical snores of neighbouring civilians.

Even the snores seem to call me into a room filled with darkness and dreams, the normally intruding and may I say rather distracting noise has become a thing so soothing that it would seem to be a magical device kept for very serious cases of insomnia. could this be? all they need is someone to snore through a wall long enough and they would be away in the 'land of nod', a thing so powerful that even those running out of sheep to count fall into the world beyond reality.

"a flock of sheep that leisurely pass by one after one; the sound of rain, and bees murmuring; the fall of rivers, wind and seas, smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky- I've thought of all by turns, and still I lie sleepless..."

William Wordsworth obviously didn't live with a snorer.

and with that,

Goodnight! x

(01:44 A.M)