I have lost my desire to write. Well, not really the desire, just the drive. I just can't think of anything interesting to say. Which is a bit silly really, because there is so much extremely cool stuff going on in my life, but I just can't get myself to write about it. I have just made myself come into this "New Post" block and am forcing my hand to make letters into sentences (of a sort) in the hope it'll turn into something worth reading. Thus far... I don't think I'm winning. Drivel, that's what this is.
Let me catch up with some news. The House in the Middle of the Street is almost ready to be moved back into. It has been a veritable building site and I have had to try very hard not to kick and scream at the builder's boot marks through my lavender, and my dead mint (presumably choked on concrete dust or paint fumes, poor thing) and had the very stressful job of choosing new paint colours (I mean, seriously, how the hell are you supposed to pick a colour for an enormous room from a square 4cm x 3cm?)... But the walls are all done, except the kitchen, and the wooden floors are almost done, and rumour has it that we may be able to move back in this weekend.
My parents left last Monday for Botswana/Big Smoke/Bali allowing us free reign in their house. It instantly made me want to throw a party, of course, having regressed to a 16-year old. Unfortunately work has been ridiculously busy and so I haven't pulled myself together to organise it! Also, they have DSTV, and I have, basically, become a DSTV-whore. There, I said it. Now you all know the real reason for my lack of writing.
Who says TV swallows you whole?
16 hours ago