End of the year

Ever have those years where you have the concentration span of a fruitfly?

I’m finding it almost impossible to do anything at the moment. Books languish half-read all over the house, the starts of stories gather in drifts at the bottom of my cupboard, my house decays into fallen towers of laundry and unwashed dishes. Even with the easy-brain stuff of tv programmes, I sort-of watch half an episode of something and then I’m hard pressed not only to tell you what just happened, but what show I just watched.

And it’s not like I have an excuse. I could blame it on this really horrible year I’ve had, or on end-of-year blues, but really, that’s just lame.

What I want to do right now is paint a girl. Only I gave all my art equipment away before I moved down to Cape Town. *headesks* So there goes that idea, although at least The Slave knows what to buy me for Christmas. Yay!

Maybe I can go learn to use computers…


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