Meine Stadt

I'm in the midst of one of those evenings of physical and mental obstruction. I sit on my bed, having unsuccessfully tried to watch two German language movies. My roommate decorates the house for tonight's "Red" party. I hide in here, frightened of the chaotic preparation. Camping is on my mind, but I have not other outlets. I've tired of trains, language, and playing music isn't even in the running for a potential occupation. How many times can you play the same twenty pop songs poorly anyway? I truly desire nothing more than floating on a lake, and even that is of limited appeal. It must be time to pick up another Tom Robbins book, or some other friendly primary-language novel. I have Saison Dans La Vie D'Emmanuel on my table, an odd Quebecois novel that takes little more than an occasional dictionary lookup. It's sad to waste a little quiet time with so little motivation. The laptop is burning my lap.