I am still in my deep funk.
Beer and joints are not helping me to lift myself from out of the rut I'm in at this moment in time, though they did help me sleep the sleep of the dead last night. I went to my bed at quarter past 6 last night, and after swilling down three bottles of carlsberg lager and smoking three or four strong joints I crashed out.
It's weird that I am in a funk at this moment in time. I have no reason to be in a funk. I'm off to Africa for a month in a weeks time, I should be bubbling along on a little cloud of pre-holiday fuzzyness. I should be buzzing along smiling, like a politician at a pre election rally, like a celebrity when they see free cocaine, like a boy racer when he has the keys to a Ferrai F40 or a ned when he manages to be served alcohol at the local corner shop without being asked for ID, but I'm not.
Perhaps it is the thought of not returning to Edinburgh after my month in Africa that has caused this funk. Who knows? Not me.
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