Can You hear Me Major Tom?

Well, the twelfth will se me blogging from another location - two houses down from me. A second floor apartment with a view. I doubt there will be anymore blogging about the ilustrous Dan, seeing as how we're not parting on the best of notes. Slight difference of opinion, me thinking that he is a stark raving mad pathological lunatic  with bad hair -  and him thinking that no, no he doesn't think he so at all.

And me, I'm sitting in the smack dab middle of a kigdom of litter. Litter litter, all around, and not a drop to drink except something undefinable on the floor which has been there for three days now and refused to co-agulate. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what scares me more, moving from my tree-roomer or this.

Sitting here and listening to a leaving home album, inevitably including The Beatles' "She's Leaving Home", a couple of Iggys, a couple of Bowies. Woe is me. Because woe IS me. I'm miserable. Thee's no fun in running around naked in a one roomer, you can only get so far, whereas in a three-roomer, you're practically streaking across a football feild if you close your eyes, which is not recommendable, but you get the idea. Running around naked in a one roomer naked is just sad and uneventful, in comparison.