Diary of an up and coming sociopath

Okay, I took the weekend off updates. Yesterday Nikki and I went to Matalan and I bought myself a much-needed new pair of jeans. I tend to avoid paying for clothes unless it’s absolutely unavoidable, which given that my current jeans have faded and are wearing thin in the jeans, I feel it was at this point. They cost £20, which is apparantly a bargain.

By all (bank) accounts, it doesn’t feel like one.

Today I’m just kind of moping, having been too sick/tired to go to one of my two lectures this morning. I blame last night’s frankly sub-par meal for the illness, the chicken tasted a bit dodgy, and as for the tiredness, well, that’s entirely down to a combination of the Hitchcockian amount of avians that greet each new day in the small hours by waking me up and drilling the sound of squawking into my brain for the next 2 hours in some kind of sick display of winged camaraderie over all the poulty I’ve eaten over the last decade, and the heat, which is forcing us to sleep (sporadically so) with windows open (which incidentally, doesn’t help the bird issue) and covers off.

I’m seriously considering rearranging my sleeping patterns so that I can just get up at 5am and have done with it. It’s that or find some way of murdering a huge amount of very tiny birds, which just isn’t practical.

Though I haven’t dismissed it entirely yet.

Nikki’s off in London doing god knows what so I’m just kind of kicking around here trying to find some purpose in the bleak, directionless existance that I’ve chosen. I recently entertained the idea of becoming a serial killer but at this point in time I don’t have the privacy or money that would be necessary to commit certain acts necessary to the facilitation of this goal. Nor do I have sufficient enough target victims. Well, maybe Nickelback fans.

Ah well. I hope those musings didn’t make me come off as bitter and paranoid as it’s always nice to pretend I am. No doubt at some point soon things will seem less like a crushing slog through the unending mire of emotional pitch and tar and more like a brief skip through a sun kissed field of corn. Re-reading this entry, it’s clear that the lack of sleep is not agreeing with me. On the other hand, it’s certainly interesting in a train-wreck kind of fashion… No more stream of consciousness updates for James; no more updates when I’ve got nothing I can talk about.