number thirty-four.

Today I am lying on my bed with my laptop resting on my protruding stomach (food, not baby) and the fan is on number three, I have been reading 'Moab is my washpot' by stephen fry and listening to a lot of Florence and the Machine and this classical opera choruses CD collection I have.

I want a record player.

In abut 15 minutes I need to be dressed and out the door for my dad's 57th birthday dinner which is at a local thai restaurant. I can comfortably assume that we will be the only customers there and that we will have an average dinner and be out of there in an hour.

I sometimes think I should have more to say on this blog, but I don't have more to say, I have nothing to say that you want to hear about, so we'll stick with what I want to say to my blog, not to the rest of the world. because going under the impression so far, that is a more accurate assumption of what is actually happening.


It's too hot and I can't be bothered with good grammar.

L.

Number thirty-three.

Read Freud's essay on 'The Uncanny',

good stuff.

Also check out Nick Cave, the designer, he's pretty rockin'.


L.