I have been ejected from my apartment for the next four hours because THE MAN wants to spray for “bugs”. A) There are no bugs in the building. B) The building is made out of cement so bugs can’t eat it. And C) the tox is going to kill me.
I am not a happy chappy.
However, the number of times I have thought about writing something here in the last two, three weeks, and ultimately didn’t is rolling over. Like a cockroach. I am/was stuck in the office for some time.
I think what happened was that I ran out of cute expressions, phrases and ideas for here. Everything seemed to be a reiteration of something previous. I had been thinking too much about who was clicking through rather than this as a record of sorts for my own personal goings on.
Things have still been happening. The other week I discovered a place inside a large shopping complex where one can go to shoot handguns. This interests me; I didn’t go in but maybe I will go back there in the coming weeks.