Saturday, September 27

I am, completely, utterly exhausted.

F1 does NOTHING for me. I was again, the least excited at Cityhall today. There were crazy dudes who could put Spider-man to shame, & there were those who could have been gymnasts their previous lives.

So. The roaring of the engines left a dull thudding in my ears. So I'm not only blind (my myopia has worsened HORRIBLY in the last couple of months & I don't know why), I'll probably be deaf after today too.

& yes, the voice in my head is STILL British. I like it. I talk to it.

Darrelle, Frankie Boyle's Scottish & half of me time (that's how he says 'my'), I can't understand him. The British voice in my head is a clear, posh voice. Akin to David Mitchell.

Omg. I have David Mitchell in my head!

David Mitchell for president!

(This entry doesn't make sense to me now coz' I typing with an eye closed & the other squinty. I hope it makes sense in the morning.)

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