Muscle Spasms

So, I've officially got cabin fever.

I threw out my back a few days ago and have been all hopped-up on muscle-relaxants since. Geez, are those things lethal or what? I've, yet again, lost a few days of my life.

I've also been toying with the idea of moving back to London the past few days. I don't know - it must be the nostalgia I've been having and the general lack of any decent jobs on the horizon. It also could be due to the fact that I've been watching a lot of English films recently - that always gets me: Happy-Go-Lucky made me want to work in Camden Town again; This Is England made me want to hang out with neo-Nazi skinheads in Sheffield again; Notting Hill made me want to take the piss out of floppy-haired Sloany Ponies again; Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels made me want to gamble my mother's flat on a high-risk poker game again; and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, while not an English film, caused me to reflect upon how much I actually DO miss seeing metrosexual men, like Russell Brand, sporting tight, leather trousers and eyeliner.

Yes. It's true. I can't believe I've said it. I also can't believe how many films I've watched since my injury.

So, nonetheless, I've decided to buck up and keep hitting the pavement. Shit, I do a lot of complaining on this blog.

Not going to go anywhere until I'm 100% sure it's the right thing. I'm no quitter man! I don't run away from things at the first sign of a bump in the road! Yes! Yes! I will raise my hand and keep prodding onwards! Yes!

Shit. I think I just threw my back out again.

Balls.