harder than graphite

Since I'm going on the assumption my audience has depleted, I feel that it's fine to write this.

True, I'm never going to be feeling excellent at 5am. On my second allnighter of the week only instead of being able to go home and nap once the work's done, I get to go and present a project for my degree that's been a constant struggle.
Doesn't help however when mapping itself is unfairly stressful. University's so overrated it's unbelievable. First year's excellent, get wrecked 3/4 times a week, do ridiculous things because you have the opportunity and the freedom. Being poor's a perk of kinds.
After that, it's shite. Rent and bills are too expensive to be able to afford luxuries of going out regularly, a consistent job's necessary to not be permanently in your overdraft, and not having the thought of a stupendously expensive flight hanging over your every purchase is preferable.

Bazinga. I'm insecure. Just like the rest of the human race. It's just much more complex when your other is 12,000 miles away, 13 hours ahead and you have no idea what might be going on. Irrelevant is the amount of times they try and reassure you. As a girl its shit. I mean SHIT.

What with this essay due in in 5 hours, it still needs tweaking.
Only got a another project to shoot, edit, print and ensure it isn't total pigswill to do before  tomorrow.

I'm also ill, delirious and aching. 
Right now, something good, comforting, loving and kind would be excellent.
So fed up of feeling so alone.
I need to go home.

2nd year student.
University of Roehampton.

Limboo..

How low can you go?

Well apparently its a bloody bottomless pit.
I'm not sure if its because I'm simply home sick, miss friends that I've known longer than several months or am basically working too much alongside attempting to attend lectures and do my assignments so I don't fail like a fucking retard.

Can someone please give me a bloody big hug?
So sick of this.

Fuckity Fuck.

Typical.

Definitely got work again tomorrow, probably need to be up early to be shower and get some stuff beforehand but can i sleep? can i fuck.
Had one of those dreams where it seems so realistic you wake up mad at the person who was in it who was a prick. Sadly when I checked something I brought up before it still hasn't changed.. Probably not something that should be such an issue, but it is!
I don't have a problem with keeping it quiet or private, no one can see mine, but come the fuck on! Are you seriously that ashamed?

Eurgh. Really not in the mood right now.

Doesn't make sense. Really, really does not make sense.

Cheers.

Mystic Meg?

Yeah, I'm not her and am unlikely to ever be anything similar.
If you've got something to tell me, don't wait for me to guess it, bloody say something! Do I look like an elderly gypsy woman with a turban on my head burning incense and wearing a billion jingly bits of jewellery? Nah.
Not me pal.

How very annoying.

Bloody hope the laundry in my room dries by tomorrow otherwise I'm going to be royally fucked for work.

Need. To. Sleep.

I'm that irritated I've got a twitch.

Oi you. Stop reading.




























Genuinely. That annoyed the bloody twitch in my eye's back. At least I finally know the cause of the sodding thing.

I woke up early on thursday for you when its the one day I could've had a lie in and yet skype didn't happen. You fell asleep halfway through talking to me today. And not only have I been at uni for several, longer than normal, hours and had my first day at a new job which made me as nervous as a gay rabbit in march. 
But still, I stay up late, largely to talk to you. The internet's being shit so I SPEND five quid on it so we can maybe skype. BUT HELL NO. If you're aware you can't talk for long then FOR FUCKS SAKE TELL ME. 
Bite me like a rabid dog.

Unfuckingbelievable.

You can tell when you care too much I think.
This is one of those times. I should start being a twat. Well, more of a twat.

Bollocks.

Don't like it, Don't read.

I didn't set out to make this all really whingey but frankly, its my place to write shit down and if I'm happy I'm usually drunk or too chirpy to bother with this.
Hence the title ;)

Definitely not cheery right now. This weekend has been slightly disastrous. Gold star to me for going to BOP and managing to lose both my oyster which I've had since I was 14, my railcard and the sleeve my mum bought me for uni. Cock. Great start. Surprisingly my hangover which should've been horrendous was pretty tame. Waxed my legs - first time, very painful. BRILLIANT. One of my housemates had friends from home coming up, on the surface fine, lovely people I'm sure. But when it comes to drinking games when I'm less than in the mood didn't really fit the bill. Just didn't promote being jolly. And today, oh today. Sorted out my oyster blah, blah. Did need to go to asda, by the time I got there, oh yeah! They'd shut. Rang mum to try and sort out aspects of my financial situation, Sketchley Grange really excells at being shit. I asked them about 2 weeks ago to send me my P45 since they're too crap for words. Have they sent it? Have they bullshit.
EURGH.

Definitely feeling homesick/mildly depressed. 

Don't like that I feel a bit of an outsider still in the house. Housemates aren't the problem, I just think I'm too happy being a hermit. I dunno. Its hard since they've all lived together for a year already. Its not that they're excluding me at all, just difficult to integrate. 

Some things just feel like they're changing. Things I don't want to change. Circumstances are difficult but I'd hope certain things would remain constant. 

Oh Jesus. Gimmie a break. Or a hug. Or lypo. Or something that'll make things get better. PLEASE.

Cry me a bloody river.

Half Past Midnight.

Its at night when I think too much. When it all gets overpowering because I can't sleep. I'll do anything for you, I always will. 

Coldplay, The Scientist

I am going to kill this bastard fly.

Shocking short. Coldplay's said it all for me.

Oh baby, you're breaking my heart.

Darling M, why fore art thou piss off to new zealand? I know its prettier than here, you get a bit more sun and you live two seconds away from the beach.. but still. It isn't the same without you.

You still tell me off for not eating and for falling over when I'm drunk. When I'm my usual clumsy self and your amusement at my shameless behaviour in public. I just miss you more than Dolce would miss Gabbana. Your hilarious face shapes and the way you screamed when my cold toes found their way to your back. Your incredible chicken and rice and how you never let me help, you even took over when I tried to cook for you.

Believe me baby, I'm not giving up. 

I just really do adore you. Every tiny little morsel, including your not so little biceps.
You should know you're stuck with me forever now. You aren't aware but I've put superglue on your soul and attached mine to it.

You're the most incredible panda in the world. You are in fact my panda. Not that I own you or anything, but you've stolen part of me so really, it's only fair. 

Love you MPH.

Twitter hooker

Sunburn is making me so itchy. I'd hate to be a dog with fleas. Aftersun forevs though innit bbz. Literally burnt the crap out of my neck, and the worst thing was, I was actually wearing sun cream. Uneffingbelievable.
Oh yeah and I've seriously gone over to the dark side of social networking. That being twitter, obvs. Use the thing between your ears, blimey. 
https://twitter.com/injurypronebird
Go on. Yolo ;)


Summer spent largely back in the 'shire hasn't been as dull as expected. It only used to be my time in London that was ridiculously awkward and sodding embarrassing. However it appears karma doesn't wanna play ball. Cheers.


SO FUCKING ITCHY. 


Maybe I have fleas? Ew. Not even amusing.


Hate saying things when I'm drunk that I actually mean. As if the hangovers weren't bad enough. Having the world spinning for the entire day isn't what I deem exactly a jaunt in a theme park.
Assaulted by one of my bosses as well. Looks like I won't be able to work in that particular shithole of a hotel again. Not that it really matters. Sketchley Grange: http://www.sketchleygrange.co.uk/ is quite possibly the shittest and most appalling place to go. Not only does it get numerous complaints on a daily basis, treat their staff like shit and now I can honestly say, sexually harass them. Do we get paid? Oh you absolute joker! Of course we don't get paid. The owners are bankrupt, indeed the vast majority of their businesses have gone bankrupt. Poor business management and the fact their cunts doesn't really emphasise a brilliant institution. And tbf, being paid less than minim wage WHEN we eventually get paid just ain't kosher pal!


Whingey McWhingerson. Eat. Your fucking heart out.


I have so many shoes. I love my shoes. And short shorts. I could fucking live in short shorts and giant jumpers. And onesies. OH ONESIES. Mother calls them giant baby grows. And what bbz? Maybe I like to pretend I'm still a kid.
Getting oldddddddddddddddddddd man. Nearly a fifth of a century. Christ.


I think I'm getting prematurely mature. I want to get married. So badly. Bloody nora, like anyone's gonna be able to cope with me. 
SO hope I win the lottery. The literal one as well as the one with men. Innit ;)


Burnt McBurnterson.
Ain'it. 

oh hi Bridget!

All I'm missing is the huge knickers and the real job. 
Blatently a happy chappy. The whole living next to a Jeremy Kyle-worthy couple and wanting to cry over a photography project which tbf, as long as I get 40%+ means fuck all, is really promoting my chances of being London's cheeriest bunny. 
I would love to be asleep right now. But Kevin and Ayesha are watching deal or no deal, special highlights, full blast. I honestly have never watched such drivel. It's opening boxes.
If you want to open boxes, work for royal mail. Or go the extra mile and get paid for it and be a jack in the box.


Happyhappyhappy!


Feet are mashed from new shoes and the top money saving idea of walking a thousand miles into Putney. Paaaiiinnnnn brah. 
I'm tired of buying roses for myself. Where's the arsehole thats meant to buy me for them? Obviously only after being a wanker and making me cry and abusing me and stuff. Domestic violence never hurt anyone. 
Don't be so ridiculous.


Big fanks to Milesy Moo. Cunt. I've been an absolute delight to you for the past 2 weeks you inconsiderate shit. And that's on top of being mardy and menstrual. That got directed at other people/things/bacon. 
Body clock is officially fucked. Hoorah.


From now on, expectations of others are at an all time low. Rock bottom's never been so deep. 
Or rocky.


Mardy McMardyson
Goose shooter.

Bleurghhhh

Literally never been more appropriate than right now.
I swear essays and assignments make me clinically depressed. Either that or going home to have shit said about me, then coming back here to be the definition of a loner. Me and family guy are having so much special time it's ridiculous. In fact it's practically a 50 year long marriage. 
- Good Easter? 
Well I suppose if you ignore the fact that I managed to bump into two exs and someone that can be describe as nothing more than an advantage taker and clearly a little desperate, all in one night. In one club. Then crying on one, pissing off the other and being proposition by the thing we'll refer to as Twiddles not to mention a complete cunt of a bouncer who for no reason other than deep admiration for my 'pissed off look' decided that he would make my night just a tad worse. Oh yeah, then my exs friends spreading shit about me because of course, when you're single you aren't allowed to explore other options, HELL NO. 
Then yes, my easter was peachy. 


Not going to lie, I'm on top of the frigging world right now.
The only thing that could make it better is if a bird came and poo'd on me. 
- Knowing my luck recently that will actually be the case by teatime tomorrow.


An essay, a news story and a project to complete within the next week. Living the dream doesn't cover how thrilled I am.
Yes, I'm whinging. No, I don't care that you don't care.


Bloody hate couples. 
If you wish to copulate, do it in a soundproof room. I am not a guy and therefore gleeful perv whenever someone of the dick persuasion manages to infiltrate some woman's special place. If you can call them a woman anyway..
More likely than not they've grabbed a grapefruit and put porn on very loudly to disguise the juicing process. Genuinely starting to feel ill now.


I should've known that coming back a week early was a bad move. So much for keeping a flatmate company! I'm entertaining myself and a small box I've named Julie. 
Times really are bad. 
I'm considering moving away somewhere new, changing my name and BMI but keeping the same mother. Position of father's still negotiable. 


Yours, Whingey Whingerson
Goose tickler.
Save me. Please. Someone?