I was disgusted to notice this morning that I've actually started thinking in status updates when I'm in front of my work computer. I haven't eaten any breakfast yet, mostly because I was a zombie this morning after working at the bar last night. I had a few leftover strawberries and cream lollies and some jaffas, so I ate all six of those and washed them down with the leftover sunkist that was also in my bag from last night. Then into my brain pops the gramatically incorrect phrase "really wants breakfast". Or it would be grammatically incorrect, had my brain not hardwired the fact that I don't need to put in a definite article to define myself or even conduct my (let's face it, SCINTILATING) internal dialogue in the present tense anymore when I'm sitting in the podchair. Facebook and Twitter do that for me. So it is official: I have become Katiebot, only able to function with the assistance of computational devices, and as such, exist permanently in the past tense.
All of the experimental witch stuff is up on the www for the entire netty universe to see. You can check them all out here. Ours was Heron Ryan, the first one on the list, with the emo-looking tearful eye of an AJ.
In other news, I am totally in lust with Billie Piper again. That sexy period detective thing she did is eclipsed by the eye-whipping that is Confessions of a Call Girl. I am not a TV person, and I'm definitely not the kind of person who can commit to being at home at the same time, week in, week out for a whole television season, but this may be the show that breaks me. I'd like to think that all this robotic becoming is rubbing off on my under-developed ability to keep to some semblance of a routine.
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I just watched that confessions of a call girl thing. Oh. My. God. I actually managed to sit still during the whole thing. There has got to be some kind of record in that.
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