Superbowl

An odd sort of day it was.

I'm mourning over no longer being in possession of Lumarc. Like taking away a piece of my heart, you are. On the other hand I suppose the DS has been with me for a tad too long considering it isn't mine. QQ.

At 6:00 pm I was tired beyond belief. Maybe it's a build-up of two months' worth of full-time; or the renovations that seem to stretch into Futurama; or the fact that I was, under Mirjana's orders, obliged to write out "This is a true copy of the document presented as the original.(Signature), (02) 9925 0903, 35 Blue St, North Sydney, 22/01/08" thirty times.

I may have been a little snappy. A little despondent. Quiet. Maybe. It doesn't take someone who knows me to notice.

So it was an odd kind of evening. I can't explain it. It's the second time tonight that I've struggled to find some descriptor, any descriptor at all, for something so important yet so baffling. I won't push myself, because it'll end up sounding every bit as pathetic as the first time.

There's definitely something about tonight.

Something great.

Something very peanut-buttery.