Three more sleeps until the Sydney Writers' Festival!

I haven't read nearly enough. That is to say, I've read stuff that has nothing whatsoever to do with the writers who are speaking at the Festival, which means that I'll be completely lost at question time unless someone discusses Richard Feynman, Alan Bennett, Tom Stoppard or either of the Bridget Jones Diaries (and if anyone is losing respect for me right now, I have a pre-prepared and mutlilayered thesis on this topic which I DEFY anyone to contradict with authority).

So yeah, all I have to do is pack, which, given I cleaned my bedroom in the same way geologists meticulously carbondate layers of rock on the weekend, is hopefully going to be easier than it would have been.

Before then, I'm going to a whole lot of cool Law Week stuff, getting a haircut, getting my pants taken up, doing my dry cleaning, finishing some Standing There Productions stuff, reading up on the Writers' Festival, getting a flu injection, claiming back my eye doctor money on medicare, getting health insurance, taking up yoga, and starting my own charity.

Either that or I'll do nothing and then pack on Friday morning.