pachyderms plod

ok, here is the truth, i am bored out of my wits. i am not even inspired enough to write. which is a rather sorry state of affairs.
apart from reading like my life depended on it, all i am doing is indulging in ennui.
i have finished both the second and the third of jonathan stroud's trilogy of nathaniel and bartimaeus (oh! a must, must read, though the first is really the best), and i am now reading bill bryson's 'notes from a big country' (scathing, sharp and tart and quite hilarious), mark gatiss's 'the devil in amber' (a bisexual criminal investigator combating satanic forces!) and john le carre's 'the honourable schoolboy' (both times that i attempted it, i fell asleep on the first page). yes... i read about three books at one time, unless the book is of a particularly gripping nature and has my eyeballs pinned.
the job hunt has finally begun... and it hasnt been all that dandy and promising yet. got two offers so far, both willing to pay the worth of about a nice paper cone of fresh peanuts.
sigh. the search continues, and i have made up my mind to wait for something meaningful... but as ironic as it is... jobs that satisfy your soul and give you meaning, pay dirt... dumb jobs that require only your head and abject slavery and benumbing of all creative juices pay trillions.
the husband still gallivants on foreign shores stuffing his face with steaks and buying enough gizmos to give bond a run for his money and good looks both, though i must grudgingly admit that i do sort of miss having the bloke around (i mean the husband, not bond... on second thoughts bond's ok too... i mean pierce brosnan with his nice, pert rump).
before i sink into any more depravity... i better get out of here.