Y'know

I thought my week was improving.
( More pointless whining. )

I can't find my Hitchhikers' Guide scripts, which is a shame; there's a Marvin speech I want to quote.

Hah. Okay. And I found the book I was looking for earlier, too.

Googoogoogoogoo. Ddddddrrrrpp. Errrrrrrrrk. Zootlewurdlezootlewurdlezootlewurdle. Fringggggg.

F...f...f...f...Fact! I ache, therefore I am. Or in my case I am therefore I ache. Oh look - I appear to be lying at the bottom of a very deep dark hole. That seems a familiar concept. What does it remind me of? Ah, I remember. Life. That's what lying at the bottom of a deep dark hole reminds me of. Life. Perhaps if I just lie here and ignore it it will go away again.

Or then again, perhaps not. To be perfectly frank with myself, if it didn't go away as a result of me falling fifteen miles through the air and a further mile through solid rock I'm probably stuck with it for good. Why don't I just lie here anyway? Why don't I climb out? Why don't I just go zootlewurdle? Does it matter? Even if it does matter, does it matter that it matters?

Zootlewurdle, zootlewurdle, zootlewurdle. . . .

(The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, radio version, Fit the Eleventh. By Douglas Noel Adams.)

Whimsey. . .

So I come downstairs into the sphere of influence of the CD changer and, when I registered that hey, there's music in here, it was . . . Everybody Hurts.

I love my perverse little machine.