As of two days ago, I have internet access. I was joking to my roommate that this meant that we’d basically quit talking to each other, now that we had the internet to occupy our time.
We spent the rest of the weekend in near-silence. Bless our poor self-control, every one.
I managed to use the free time to watch a British TV series that Netflix recommended to me in the “You Seem to Like Accents, Nerd” category. In true UK fashion, the first season included a marriage dissolving, two affairs, and a main character choking to death on his own vomit. The season was six episodes long. The show is nominally about a book club.
No one does depressing quite like minor British TV shows.
Things really have been pretty quiet in the apartment otherwise. I’ve been procrastinating on my death thesis by writing an ebook for Thousand Words, which will hopefully be edited and out in a reasonable amount of time. Also, fact that I am pretty sure is true: when I explain to people that I am dating that I cannot go hiking because I am writing an ebook? It pretty much totally sounds like I am lying.
I’m not! I’m just that much of a nerd. (I do also hate hiking, so.)
Beyond nerding out, things are (quite literally) quiet here. There was a moment of excitement today when–during one of Georgia’s famed freak rainstorms–my roommate and I discovered that one of our windows leaks. We shoved a towel in it and walked away, because we are adults. (The leaking stopped, just to be clear.)
And with that, dear nerdlets, I’ma bounce. Season two of the wildly depressing book show won’t watch itself! There’s only six episodes left before everyone probably kills themselves. Television!