I have often wondered whether it's all worth it. Whether one merely goes through the motions of another day, hoping that one day the endless cycle will break under the strain of hurtling towards its own profound eternal destiny of never being able to end. Absolute nonsense, I know, but it makes a pathetically twisted kind of sense once you've been at it long enough. Like a hamster running endlessly on its treadmill until its final ounce of life is spent.
On a more cheerful note - I now live in a flat with a friend (who shall remain anonymous for his own protection), for those who care to know. We do not have a telephone land-line and no internet connection is provided. The flat lacks a microwave and the gas stove sparker and hood fan do not work.
Having finished 'I was Dr Mengele's Assistant' and '5 people you meet in heaven,' I'm currently bragging online about attempting to read five books at once. It's failing miserably, but is fun nonetheless.
1) L. Da Vinci's 'Prophecies'
2) Molecules of death
3) Che Guevara's 'The Motorcycle Diaries'
4) A purpose-driven-life
5) Matters of Life and Death
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