I can't find anything to write about. I'm afraid nothing is happening in the world of finance. I know you don't believe me, dear reader(s), but it's true. Nothing is happening. And: nothing ever happens. I merely pretend that it does. I know you're shocked.
So, I'm just going to write about random stuff. My discipline seems to have gone. Well, it's nearly Christmas, give me a break. Reader, you expect too much of me. I may be superhuman, but that doesn't mean I can write for years on end without losing my grip occasionally. / Martin Amis says he writes for two hours a day, and that's enough. Ha! He should try being a blogger. No, let him stick to the zombie novel. It's a dead parrot, actually. But no one's told him or his friends. What a shame! It's like James Joyce never existed! Never mind. I'm not the literary police. Let them do what they want. What do I care? They'll find out - when it's too late.
I'm feeling very tired. It could be the pills. Or the pain keeping me awake at night. A quarter of my chest is yellow. I'm going to the hospital tomorrow, fracture clinic. I think I'm getting better. Well, I hope I am. Gotta stay positive. I know I'm getting better.
