Reading Sid Vicious: No One Is Innocent is sad and almost depressing in a way that is sad and almost depressing; but it's a brilliant book and damn it makes me feel sorry for him. As dad put it, he was just destined to die.
Poor boy. Poor, silly boy.
Makes me want to write though, but I know if I write anything it will turn into mush in a matter of seconds or I'll sit staring at an empty Word document for days until I realise I still haven't started my Physics coursework or done any more drawing for art.
And then everything would be a mad rush to get "Why did the dinosaurs become extinct?" finished.
Well now, that was an intuitive insight on my life.