Yoda-isms of my future night.

Gone from me, the writing mojo is.

To the Elephant and Wheelbarrow (daggy shite place that it is) Go must I.

Barking like a Seal, I am.

Feeling sexy, I am not.

Meeting cute boys, seeming unlikely is.

Meeting non-hot scottish backpackers who have never heard of Mogwai, likely is.

Drinking immense jugs of cider, I shall be.