"The stain on my notebook says nothing to me..."

Oh it's one of those weeks.
One of those weeks where I've pretty much spent every hour of every day with my nose in some kind of book. As well as it smelling quite bad, the words printed are doing my head in...

If anyone knows about the anti-hero and late Romantic period literature then please let me know.

Anyway, so yeah, I've been reading stupid amounts in order to get my literature essay to make some kind of sense, but it just doesn't seem to be happening. I've confused myself more than anything. Actually thought I'd try to be clever yesterday and I took a notebook out with me to jot down points and ideas as they popped up. I was well proud; writing frantically on the bus whilst on my way to uni, but when I got back home to check on my tasty bits of knowledge which I could dazzle my lecturers with...well...let's just say that it would probably make more sense to an alien than to me. Can't even read my own writing!
This further proves that I really am pretty useless a lot of the time.

Screw it anyway.
I've given myself the evening off to indulge in some human company rather than that of Duncan Wu and Lord Byron nagging at me from behind broken spines and coffee stains.











By the way, for anyone who gives a toss, the quote for the blog title is from a song called 'Black coffee in bed' by Squeeze.