My mobile phone is dead. The unopened bottle of Diet Coke it was sharing a bag with developed a crack the length of half my little finger, and emptied its whole contents into the keypad of my thankfully-cheap phone. It's drying out at the moment, but I don't have high hopes for the fried-looking SIM card.
Meanwhile, a much more impressive crack has appeared in the plaster ceiling of my bedroom, spreading through a wall from the smaller-but-no-less-worrying crack that my landlord dealt with by Polyfilla-ing over a couple of weeks ago. It spreads from one side of the room to the other, branching out and twisting back in on itself like some evil mangrove tree of serious structural defects. My bed is right below it. I'm sleeping on the sofa.
But, whatever. At least if I am out of contact and squished flat, I won't have to finish marking these essays.
Did you ever see "Repulsion"?
"Always look on the bright side of life..."
{whistles}
And you wonder why he got the urge to sell?
At least your sofa is comfy? It might be a good thing you're moving out - if you were staying, you might have had weeks or months full of workmen to deal with! Perhaps the landlord did you a favour not extending your lease?