In Which Your Humble Blogger has bad habits, and doesn’t have good ones. Which seems wrong to me, somehow. Wouldn’t it be better the other way?
In Which Your Humble Blogger is born into the tribe, and then has to bear himself the rest of the way.
In Which Your Humble Blogger talks about your floor lamp.
In Which Your Humble Blogger attempts to express his gratitude and pleasure, and quietly hopes for another gang of five soon.
In Which Your Humble Blogger just doesn’t get what’s so annoying about printers. Photocopiers, yes, with the paper jams and the light when people leave the lid up and so on. But printers?
In Which Your Humble Blogger beats his head against the desk, and then does the only really practical thing under the circumstances: makes tea.
In Which Your Humble Blogger starts talking about foul-mouthed politicians, and then figures, you know? Fuck it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger sees a way out, but it’s government-supported, so it’s probably better to just stay here in this nice safe cubicle.
In Which Your Humble Blogger experiences a sort of coincidence, which puts the experience of reading book in question into somewhat a different light.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads a substitute book, but a really, really good one.