In possibly some of the least excellent timing ever, I'm off to Bali in a week.
Damned terrorists - why can't they focus on being pissed at their parents and maybe stick to blowing them up?
What sense of universal entitlement encourages these people to blow themselves up in public places? Maybe it's my generations-old British heritage, but I don't even like complaining to my waiter if there's a hair in my food.
The original plan was to spend a couple of weeks relaxing and soaking up the value for money; but when I told my mum about it she was all "Ohh - your sister needs a holiday..." So now my sister is coming with me.
My sister suffers from some kind of anxiety disorder.
It gets worse in aeroplanes and when she's out of her comfort zone.
I will be visiting the doctor tomorrow for a fresh Valium prescription and at the first sign of trouble, it's 5mg for her.
Valium = FTW
is there ever a 'good time'?
It will come as no surprise to the 2.3 readers of this blog that I am a melancholy excuse for a functional human being.
More and more often lately I find myself sitting here desperately wanting to write something interesting and non-myopic; but apparently that's beyond me.
Apparently I'm self-obsessed.
That's pretty shit because, if you believe everyone who's telling me anything at the moment, I'm not very interesting.
I believe them because I know for a fact that wallowing in self-pity is pretty fucking pedestrian.
I hate being this way.
you wish your life was this awesome
Today is the first Saturday in 4 weeks that I haven't worked; and I have to say that's not necessarily a good thing.
I'm all for the relaxation of the not working but I'm having trouble with the loneliness.
Last night I got so lonely that I baked cookies to pass the time - like a 1950's housewife. Today I vacuumed, dusted, washed the sheets and cleaned the bathroom. The house is once more a pleasure to live in, with one exception - there ain't nobody here but us chickens.
By 'chickens', of course, I mean me and Texas.
It's all part of the rich one-dimensionality of my existence. Work. Sleep. Work Sleep.
No company.
No conversation.
No.
Nothing.
Just a big "Fuck Off".
