Okay, so today I DO have an annoyingly pointless story about my life because I did something other than sit in the house all day feeling sorry for my poor sick tummy, but first I'm going to try to write a really long totally incoherent sentence using words of varying syllables like "kowtow" and "miscreant" just so I can say I've practised writing a little bit today, because isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing everyday, writing and practising long incoherent sentences to prove I won't kowtow to convention like most other waifs seem to do these days, sat there all the time dreaming of being the villain in a superhero movie; a masked miscreant set since childhood on world domination all because their fathers didn't ruffle their hair with a pan-sized palm or kiss their mothers with any sort of detailed passion, thus rendering said villain an emotionally twisted, money and power-obsessed wretch with a hairdo that reflects their inner turmoil? Well, isn't it?
Hmm. Well at least I entertain myself!
Moving on. Today I went out for a little walk. I went out for a little walk to try and build up some strength so I can be better prepared for my imminent return to work. So naturally I walked to the graveyard. It was all sunny and chilly and frosty and one of those really GOOD winter days that's really GOOD and wintery. I took my notebook with me in case any ghosts popped up to tell me their chilling tale. Anyway, I wandered around for a while looking at gravestones, which was actually extremely relaxing. So much so that, for a while, I died and was buried myself. I walked right down to the far end of the cemetery, the place that looked as though no one ever went down there since the paths were entirely covered in thick moss. There I discovered the grave of Alphons Van-Poucke and vowed to one day include him in a novel I'll write about a hapless Belgian spy with a stammer.
And then some bigger boys came with a dog that was black and so I went home.