Why can't I go outside? That's a question worth exploring. And yet, unexplored it remains, save in those circular arguments ricocheting off the inside of my skull, their infallible logic unable to sway my torpor. I do not want to go outside. I can't look at people. I do not want to be looked at by people, is probably more accurate. I strongly want to go to the gym, to the tanning salon, and to Tesco. I will likely force myself into some horrid outfit to go get wine later, but the things which would be useful, and probably mood-elevating ...
Well, I just don't see them happening. It's baffling in its idiocy. My idiocy.

On the plus side I got the 2015 Best Food Writing today. That's always worth a read. Might fill up a day or two.

Still fully enamoured of yon Shilpa Ray.

Good Greek Dressing: