Monday, May 23, 2005

It's just another Manic Monday.

Day 8 of my time at 493 Kenton Road. Which I thought was 463 Kenton Road. Which is what I told Abbey National. And my doctor's. And Gerry Kroll at Soundtrackers. And, I think, Royal Mail on the redirection form. Meaning that I now have to go up to Muswell Hill during my lunch break and explain it to them (something that I don't like doing thanks to the traffic); and over to 463 Kenton Road and tell them that they're going to be getting stuff for me, alas; and down to the doctor's to try and do something so I don't run out of my pills... growing up is a pain.

On the upside, the good people at ntl blessed me with cable, but on the downside it's not tuned into the video so I can't tape anything for the time being until I work it out (or, more likely, appeal to Sharon to help work it out... or, let's face it, work it out for me). So that's something else fucked up.

And have I managed to do any writing at all since taking up in the bedsit? Have I hell. Not a word on my collaboration with Jen. Nothing moving forward on the one with Hilary, Jewel and She Who Really, Really Needs To Take A Page From Jessica Alba's Book. Zero on the next Cindy Inc. Not even anything for IMDb's comments, thanks to my being non-free for movies until the weekend after next (Shaz moves over this weekend, and I'm giving her a hand). I know what I want to write for each bit, but I just can't put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, yet - ploughing through pictures in the inbox takes up so much time that by the end...).

But hey, at least I bought some diabetic chocolates. And Sin City finally opens next week. (I wanted to go to the premiere in Leicester Square tonight and maybe catch a glimpse of J. Alba and Brittany Murphy, but now I'll have to stay home. Oh well, there's always Fantastic Four.)

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