At long bloody last, Book Number The Fifth has finally wended it's hairy-arsed way down south to the great house of Harper, where it's probably hanging around the water cooler making off-colour remarks, or photocopying it's bum. You know the kind of thing.
And now I get to catch up on all the things I've been meaning to do for sodding months and never managed to get around to. Like chiselling out a channel in the solid brick walls of the lounge so I can install a set of lovely Billy bookcases and then fill them with books. BOOKS, I tells ya! Which is where the big slice of guilt comes in. I'm way behind with my reading. I mean seriously, badly, way behind. There's a stack of things that I've been asked to blurb and haven't even managed to crack the cover of. Which is very, very naughty, especially as some of them are ones I've supposed to be giving feedback on. So if you're waiting to hear back from me on something, well ... you know ... sorry, and stuff.
Bad beardy writist, back in your box.
I don't know what it is about Blind Eye (got to get used to giving Book Number The Fifth it's proper name, or it'll get al sulky), but I've been obsessing like an obsessive thing over it. For the whole sodding year. Obsessing to the point where I can't concentrate on anything else. I should probably get out more. Of course, I made a bunch of resolutions for 2008 and how many of them have I managed to stick to? None. Not a single bloody one. The only thing I came close to was the not saying 'yes' to everyone. And even then most of the time I was just putting them off till later in the year. *sigh*
I think I've probably got a week, two at the most before the dreaded Book Number The Fifth comes home to roost, and then all bets will be off as I go on a red-pen rampage. Die words! Die!
Just have to see how much reading I can get done by then...
Labels: Blind Eye, Book Number The Fifth, Whinge