Dafydd's Birdhole and the black hole of doom

Got to love the place, really. Nearly a year since I decided that I couldn't deal with Dafydd any longer, and I'm back there for a short period of time.

Sitting down where grumpy Michael used to preside: my cell-mates are a pregnant woman who, to my eyes, looks like she's just about to give birth at her desk, and some guy who apparently used to be in a rock band. I'm sure he's happier now humping printers around the building than living a carefree life eating junk food out the back of a tour van, surrounded by pretty young things and piles of beer and weed.

It's cold as cold shit at the moment. Excuse the simile. I just can't think of anything to describe it. It's like the Proctor and Gamble building up in Toronto that, when I was there, seems to generate the cold for the rest of the universe.

Had a strange dream about the nest of vipers' dress closet last night. But it led to the realization that we might actually be harboring a low-gravity black hole right here in the house.

Stick with me here ... OK - there's no more room for more clothes as far as I can tell. But she keeps buying them and putting them in there (still with tags on, of course - because there's absolutely no intention of actually wearing them, is there?). So, the density of the matter is going up and up and up and their own mass is causing them to collapse in on themselves (thereby creating the extra space that I didn't think was there).

My theory is that the whole mass is slowly starting to rotate and collapse in on itself, dragging in other items of stuff around the house into it. The door was open a crack this morning, and the cat went in there and must have come out again, because some mammal other than myself and presumably the nest of vipers deposited quite a meaty shit in the litter box shortly afterwards.

So, we haven't hit the point of an event horizon quite yet. But I definitely think I'm onto something here.