There is plastic in front of all my windows. This must be what it feels like to live inside a soapbubble. The house is about to be spraypainted, so I’d imagine that it’ll smell anything but soapy. Where I used to live, back before I moved to Hellhole, farmers used to spray pee from unsuspecting cattle on their fields. That didn’t smell soapy either.
And I’m off to a wonderful start.
The thing is, I have absolutely nothing to say.
My brain, otherwise known as Bergerac, has gone away for a couple of days. It felt that it had earned a break after I put it through and intensive lab course all last week and an exam on Friday, not to mention loads of analysis I had to finish over the weekend. Analysis… Analysisis… See? Bergerac isn’t here.