The weekend before the summit commenced, I had desperately wished for an asthma attack. I guess it showed the universe really has a way of showing its sadistic streak. My medication however, proved that steroids really are a life saver for folks like me. Then there goes my liver. I'm not even going to bemoan about the summit because it was pure torture.
I'm due for a review or two of tracks; my time is running out and my mind is not yet into it. But I promised you, Chard, I'll submit at least one by the end of the month. And speaking of books, you bet your lily white arse I'm still not done with Shakespeare. The temptation that lies between Bassanio and Antonio cannot even seduce me to finish it. And I'd rather not sweat spinal fluid over a hardbound Brothers Karamazov for sale on ebay, which will end in less than thirty minutes. Should I? It seems I'm only good in collecting books and not reading them. As for the opportunity of applying for a master's degree--it's still in the back of my mind. Why not, after all.
And what in the flying shit? When did this family ever give a damn about this earth hour, which we never bothered to participate for last few years it was promoted. It would be a long time coming before this planet goes boom, and it's not going to be my problem so to hell with it.
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