hobo...

Never figured out where the word hobo came from anyway.

About a month and a bit before I go back and become a hobo. Sitting on the street in crap clothes with a cheap plastic bag full of life's possessions; whiskey flask, broken toothbrush, 27 cents in foreign exchange, an album of shiny but otherwise worthless cards (can be used to flash stun pigeons for lunch, though) and the collections of a snapped sanity.

If that should ever happen, I hope I will still have the sanity to at least kill myself first.

Or I could always just continue the househunt. Could always just, eh?

There's nothing doing with falling out of bed. Not this morning anyway. I was rudely awakened by the noise of someone hogging the bathroom.