Man hands misery on to man.

I typed in my name on google.
It came up with six results; facebook, myspace, netlog urban dictionary and such like.
It was really strange. I felt odly guilty about it like I was a celebrity reading an article about themselves in OK magazine.
It go me wondering...in a modern and liberal society why are we forced to hide ourselves?

Wheezy Breather

I'm sat in my college library attempting to breathe like a normal person. It is not going well. I'm so tired I could sleep for a year. I owe coursework in every lesson. The shame of the matter is I could have avoided being sat here today wheezing away like an old grandma who's on 90 a day if I'd just done to bloody work.
I want to go pack to a few weeks ago and kick myself in the face.
Sure I'd still have the bruise but at least I'd be in bed at home with it.

I'm staying with my mum for a few days, just for a break from the flat. My neighbours and jolly old pals Rach and Benny are looking after Tigie (my pet canary). Benny's just started his new job and he's on nights so Rach and Tigie can keep each other company. The flat was so cold and bland that I just couldn't stay there any longer...I didn't have a couch or telly or anything other that the kitchen stuff and a bed.

So of I went to Mummy's house. She rang me up the other week and asked me to come for tea then to come and stay for a couple of days. I declined. But now that I rang her up asking to come and stay she all like " Only for a couple of days, in bed by ten, dust your room, put your curtains up and put some bedding on". Hail Hitler. The dusting incidentally is the reason for my wheezy breathing.
Asthma + old dusty room+ stress from mother= stressy asthma attack.

I wish I was in bed asleep right now.
=[

Thinking about it...I'm not even doing college work now, I should kick myself in the wheezy breathless face.

Well, I'm moving the last of my things tonight. Other than one or two exceptions, I will miss everyone in the centre. We've had some laughs, although I've had some really horrible times I've done alot of growing up there and met a couple of people who I will put in my pocket and save for friendships. I suppose now I'm leaving I must rediscover my social life. There's no excuse for just sitting chatting to whoever is in on a Friday night. I'll blow the dust or my high heels, put some face on and go and brave the real world again. I'm better equipped this time.

No more silly hats, silly jokes, pranks, arguments or drunken nights.

No more ridiculous two bit staff who think their the dogs...

Ah hem!

Bare floors and bad tempers.

Uh!
I hate moving house.
As if it isn't bad enough that you have to reduce the museum of your existence to some boxes and suitcases, its all the mess, and stress, and things you find lurking amongst the rubbish.
I have found so many socks in the process of moving that I may in fact drop out of college and open a haberdashery. Is that what its called?
The place where they fix socks?

Why do we do this to ourselves?
usually I love have my belongings surrounding me, creating a little cove, a shrine to my tastes. Kookey ornaments and girly fabrics all around me. But, at moving time, every possession becomes a bore and a strain. Belongings seem irrelevant to me in anyway and I find myself wanting to become a Buddhist monk and own nothing but an orange toga and a small wooden bowl.

I suppose unpacking and decorating will prove fun.
Building new surroundings and finding all those little nick nacks that remind me of friends, holidays and parties.

I like sitting back and thinking how comforting the womb or wonky vases, wooden Buddha's and modern iconic arts prints actually is. Until then, I'll continue biting nails, losing sleep and occasionally wondering just maybe if Valium is a good idea.
I'm kidding of course.

We all KNOW it's a good idea.