Panadol is the world's greatest invention.

I have just finished reading the book for which I have an essay due tommorow: Kate Atkinson's Behind the Scenes at the Museum. Notice the way I used Italics to reference a book? That is because I am an english dweeb. Soon I will start the essay, where I shall be discussing the significance of the books title to the content. I will not finish it tonight, but even though it is late and I have work tomorow morning, I feel the need to start it now, while it is fresh in my mind. Besides, tonight is not a good night for sleeping. The air is restless with helicopters, dogs and my Phantom Clock (there are no batteries in it, but I hear it ticking often). Anyway, I have four hours to do this essay after I finish work tomorrow, which is more than enough time for a 1500 word essay of this level.
This weekend, thanks to a deposit of suplus monies from the flat account, I have been able to drink and eat, and most importaintly, buy panadol. I never used to rely on panadol for hangover cures, perferring rather to be stoic in the fact that the headaches and woozyness was somthing self inflicted and so I should roll with it, and I have even had, on occasion, hangovers that have been more enjoyable than the drinking it took to get them, but you cannot be productive during a hangover, ejoyable or not. So enter panadol, which gets rid of most of the symptoms of hangovers, and allows me to at least read books for classes. Wheather this discovery shall breed within me a new found desire to further my alcoholism by taking away any deterant or shall simply help me to become a better functioning member of society (all those mornings at work I have spent hungover! why didn't I pop a pill?) remains to be seen.
As you might be able to tell from reading this I am in a much better mood than I have been lately. I am on the up cycle of my by now sickenly familiar depression cycle, and so know that payment shall be extracted later, probably at about 9am tommorow. As you also might have noticed, I have been doing alot of this new-age emotional namby-pamby mental musing crap, but as I have noticed, it is actually uite helpful for me to be able to look back on my life in this form to see what has happened, becuase I simply cannot keep all that memory inside my sive-like head. So what I am saying, in essance, is that you just have to deal with it. HAH!

In other news, Behind the Scenes at the Museum is actually really quite good. It pretty much gets added to my own personal hall of book fame along with On The Road, Dear Miffy, and anything by Murakami or Kafka. So read it.