On saturday I was almost overcome by a sudden urge to leave EVERYTHING, walk out of my appartment jump on the next flight to the Phillipines and live a life style of drinking, drug abuse, hooker abuse, and making money in casual labour and selling my blood at a blood bank as often as they would let me. I would buy a cheesy shirt, chew gum, smoke too much, and carry a knife, a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards at all times. I would know all of the seediest bars and the lapdance clubs. I would know all of the drug dealers, and black market types. I'd maybe get in a few barroom brawls. I'd lose teeth, sweat beer, wake up feeling like shit every morning and maybe kill a man. I would maybe spend some time working around the docks, or on cargo ships, perhaps with a sideline in smuggling. I would end my childish addiction to haribo sweets, and learn rudimentary kung-fu. I would wear cheap jewllery, and a cheap wristwatch, always have a tooth pick in my mouth. My voice would perhaps degenerate to a low growl due to constant abuse of my larynx. And I would die alone, probably because of the drink.

But then maybe I just listen to too much Tom Waits?

I made a tea, and curled up with a novel instead.

Morover, I suck.