As they say on Spartacus…

APOLOGIES!

This cat is not Book Cat. With his freaky extra fingers (claws?), Book Cat would pwn this cat. Believe it, bruv.

God, I suck at blogging, right? WRONG. The mind-numbing mundanities of my drearily monotonous existence have conspired to keep me ridiculously preoccupied. First there was the small matter of grad school to deal with–which, by the way, I’m pleased to say is finally finished (yay, me)–and then I made the questionable decision to return to the family seat, a.k.a. Helheim, for a week. Mostly because I went to see Of Monsters and Men at the Phoenix (a-freakin-mazing!) but also because I hate fake London and paying for my own groceries. Once the high of seeing those Icelandic indie rock gods had worn off, though, I quickly remembered why the pink elephant in White-by is called Helheim, and even thoughts of Arnar banging on his drums like a Viking god of kynlíf weren’t enough to distract me from the madness of megalomaniacs, rageaholics, and sociopaths.

And then my step-father went to work and everything was cool. JOKES–he didn’t go to work, he’s a total bum. Lol. Silly you.

But seriously you guys, it’s been crazy. I’ve been back in Lundun packing up my shizz and let me tell you, thank the gods for my e-reader. I have more boxes of books that everything else in my tiny flat combined. Which would normally make me feel all uber-nerdy and self-righteous and cause me to strut around crowing “I’m a librarian!”… except tomorrow I have to carry these boxes of books down six flights of stairs because this apartment’s elevators are demonically possessed. So, a bit of cold water on that one.

So that’s what’s been going on. I have been reading, lots and lots and lots, and as soon as I’ve moved out of Crap City and back to the House of Horrors, I’ll be blogging about the books I lurved and the books I loathed, and also the books who are just going to be casual, no funny business-type friends.

But for now, here’s Book Cat, getting more writing done than me, the bumptious little bastard. Rub it in, T. Rub it in.

Those thumbs are just weird.

Cor, that cat’s got swagger.

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Wow. I guess I have a heart after all.

Jerry: [crying] What is this salty discharge?
Elaine: Oh, my God. You’re crying.
Jerry: This is horrible! I care!

(Seriously though, doesn’t watching this make the cold chunk of igneous rock that’s lodged in your chest start to feel things again? Damn. Watch it on Vimeo here)

(FYI, igneous because it is the best kind of rock, and by best, I mean it’s made of LIQUID HOT MAGMA and also the most fun to say. IGneous. Iiiiiiiiiiiigneous. Igneouuuuus. Go on, say it. You know you want to. There. See what I mean? For some reason, saying it makes me feel like Gandalf.)