I am presently visiting the parents, at their home in the country. It's nice to visit, and see all cats once again. They have a batch of particularily beautiful kittens right now, still at the ball of fluff stage. Very small, and very cute. That being said, I have found myself in a minor situation. Namely, it's not my home anymore. I miss my apartment, I miss my bed. I have been attempting to fall asleep on an air mattress, all it seems capable of is generating headaches. The room is dead silent, no fan to generate white noise. As such, I find the silence deafening in it's way. The subtle whine of the vents becomes piercing, and painful.

It's become uncomfortable, and I'd much rather be at my home in town. That having been said, there isn't much to do at my home in town at the moment. There isn't much money. I have recently burned out on work at the call centre, so I have to find new employment. The past couple days it has in some forms come to resemble a tomb more than anything. It really shouldn't. I suppose the biggest issue at hand is one of ornamentation. When you have dreary surroundings, it cultivates a dreary mood. I have been planning to move some of the books from the living room into my personal bedroom. This would very much serve to control the omnipresent clutter which every day threatens to kill us all. Kill Us All. Truly, that seems at first hyperbolic, but at length, one realises that the notion isn't as far fetched as one may at first think.

I am reminded of an adage from the Terry Pratchett novel I am presently reading: BE MAD. IT HELPS.

With that, I shall dash off into the night cackling like an owl possessed.