quickley

Well. You know.
It's not so bad, in that it's nice, and sunny, 20 degrees ish.
I've got a bicycle to ride, and a dinghy to paddle around in.
My father's maid is taking me down at some point to put braids and extentions in my hair, so I might have my old self back, roughly a year ahead of schedule.

The world walks, behaves, and thinks as though the mast of the Marie-Celeste's is actually congenitally lodged in the population's rectum, rather than in the reef.

It blows, in that my glamourous house-sit is actually in an old-folks home. No joke.
The entire island's aesthetic can be described as... "the set of the Golden Girls" and the company's comparable.
There are, as originally suspected, no cool kids.

Marijuana runs at 50$US a joint, and is terribly hard to find. That just ain't right

My Cool Honorary Uncle Bix, who'se company over beers was one thing I was looking forward to... has gone too far, and has to be checked into re-hab for drying-out today.

My father will not cease to, or, no, rather, not begin to take me seriously about my career choices, which I'm coming to see, I'm actually here to be talked out of.
He's also trying to con me into coming to the island permanently, and work in a friend of his' cafe, and do amateur theatre with the Bermuda Musical & Dramatic society, which he's volunteered me to work on the running crew for this week. I haven't seen the show... but I've seen the back stage and pre-show prep. They've got a fucking 50k budget for this half-assed pantomine they don't deserve. The place runs like a daycare in the charge of a 10 year old. Actors don't show up. Seamstresses can't sew. The wrong fly gets flown. It's all wrong. NO.

NO NO NO NO NO.

I did not go to University for seven years to work in a podunk island cafe and do amateur theatre.

FUCK OFF.

Who wants to be daring and send me a quarter? I've got a top-secret, fool-proof method of getting it done, too. Message me, I dare ya
I was thinking, after 2 years of chronic smoking, that a 3 week break might be good for me.
4 days in, and I remember quite clearly, the reason for my habit. It makes my back stop hurting, and my stomach stop churning, so that I can eat. Oh yeah. And the migraines.
I am not medicating myself. There is no deep hidden childhood abuse or neglect that I haven't already confronted and risen above of. This, despite the soreness and starving, makes me feel a bit better.