Word salad.

These last few weeks have been rather stale. I haven't felt the twitch of inspiration to do anything remotely interesting with the old folks out of the house; it's been more of a case of curling up in front of the TV and falling asleep, hoping that I wouldn't wake up with a sore anus after being manhandled by five Indian burglars.

Alas, while I'm living out my paranoid delusions by locking up everything in the house, I've wallowed deeper and deeper into a pit of longing and despair, where even a smidgen of human contact would make me a happy camper for days on end.

It's not easy, being a hermit. The only thing missing in my case is a beard and scraggy hair.

Apart from all the negligent aspects of my increasingly subdued life (methinks that it's basically a transition to a full-on repeated quarter-life crisis), I've got around two weeks to prepare for what could hopefully be my last dance with academia ever.

Wish me luck, even though I haven't really started doing anything about it. Forewarned is forearmed; I hope I do remember that.