a man comes through the door with a gun

I should not, not, not, not, not even start playing Bejewelled. Does nothing at all for my productivity. Quite the reverse.

At work I'm not actively overworked but I really wouldn't mind it being a little slower and quieter, if anyone knows what I mean by that.

(Why am I not surprised to find Perplexcity cards already selling on ebay?)

Weekend coming up. It will be greatly appreciated.

The weather's definitely taken a turn for the colder. I'm trying to decide if my current slightly blocked nose and vague off-colourness are symptomatic, psychosomatic, or genuine illness. In the meantime, I'm dosing myself with hot coffee.

(Look, it's hot and sweet, this has to be good.)

(Well, it's sweet the way I make it.)

Writing being awkward. Time to have a man come through the door with a gun.

---

SONNET

I don't think that I've been in love as such,
Although I liked a few folk pretty well.
Love must be vaster than my smiles or touch,
For brave men died and empires rose and fell
For love: girls followed boys to foreign lands
And men have followed women into Hell.

In plays and poems someone understands
There's something makes us more than blood and bone
And more than biological demands...
For me, love's like the wind, unseen, unknown.
I see the trees are bending where it's been,
I know that it leaves wreckage where it's blown.
I really don't know what "I love you" means.
I think it means "Don't leave me here alone."

-- Neil Gaiman