manhattanproject

I'm back! I made it back alive! Thank fuck for that. It was horrible. Seriously, Austrlia? Fucking horrible.
On a brighter note, moving into the new place tomorrow, finally. Should be able ot make a good start on decorating it soon. Need to order up a bunch of Lego. Yes, Lego. I have plans.

Well, thankfully I didn't die on the way here. But I've still the journey back to worry about. Who knew Australia was as fucking COLD as it is? Holy shit, Batman, we'retalking freezing.

Holy fuck I leave tomorrow morning. Jesus fucking fuck fuck. I'M GOING TO DIE IN A HORRIBLE PLANE CRASH.

Some days are just not good days. I'm a jittery, nervous, irritable wreck today. And I'm in a really foul mood. On one hand, I should be happy, I'm going on a massive holiday (which, admittedly, has left me in the poorhouse after my savings have all been spent on it), there's the beginnings of what could be a very promising relationship, and I'll soon...
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Just because I watch the Coronation Street omnibus every sunday does not make me a pathetic housewife (husband?). Emma Edmondson makes it awwwwwwright. But
And I'm out of beer, but I can't afford more. And the cover version of "Picture This" on the Permanent TSB ad is really beginning to annoy me, cause it's really fucking shit and the original is really fucking good.
Am...
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Holy shit, I'm going to Sydney soon!

Stop - panic time. Oohhhhh oh ohhhohohoohhhh. Break it down.

FUCK!

Seriously, I swear to God, if I find the people who are out there mis-using the ellipses, I'm going to stab them in the face with a hairbrush.
To recap - Misusing ellipses, in the face, with a hairbrush. It's like Cluedo. Except someone's enojying it.

Went ahead and dug up an old poem of mine, dusted it off, and tweaked the metre a little. Be brutal.

The Fuddle-Beast


The moon was a sliver
Of bounteous silver
The night that the fuddle-beast died

The stars they did shimmer
With their tranquil glimmer
And left him with no place to hide

He ran past the clam tree
And crawled through the fuzz-weeds...
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Thank fuck, that's the exams over.
For now, anyway. Bailed out of philosophy this morning as soon as possible, having spent only 15 minutes writing anything. When you study (just a little bit, mind) for subjects, and are asked questions on specific people you've never heard of in your life, it's time to cry. And cry I did, like a little girl in a confession...
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Oh good God. Exams are not going well. How am I supposed to write about the problems of self identity posed by "The Passenger" if I haven't even seen it? Uni is scary fucking biscuits sometimes, it really is.