Come into my arms, sweet freedom

That's right. It's Saturday night past midnight and I'm at home, studying. And last night was Friday night (quite surprisingly, actually) and I was also at home, studying. This is how much my life sucks at the moment. To be fair, nothing else really sucks, apart from the studying, but I feel the situation demands some dramatisation and the studying simply sucks so badly that I have no words to describe it. I know, I usually always have words to describe stuff, but this is how serious the situation has become. My eyes, just in case someone is interested, are so tired and sore that I need to tilt my head slightly to the side and back a bit with my arms stretched to reach the keyboard and squint my eyes if I want to see what I type. Surely that's not normal. I don't know about you, but I feel sorry for myself.

Having said that though, there is some good news. I only have one week left of my degree and then it's all over. All over! And once it's all over, I'm going to make up for all the suffering and pain. Big time. So to all you people out there who at this very moment are having a grand old time and are carrying on and drinking Gin and Tonics and dancing on tables and cooking lobster and skinny dipping and laughing this stupid loud laugh and feeding each other chocolates and are just generally having a disgustingly good time while I'm studying, to all you people I would like to say one thing. Tonight I might be studying and let you have all the Gin and Tonics and do the dancing on tables. But wait until I'm back next week. You better have a few disco naps now and get ready for it, because I will be partying like there's no tomorrow and you better be up for it. And I won't stop until the sun comes up and then I still won't stop. And if you can't keep up with me I will have no mercy because it's your fault for having a good time while I suffered. Oh, sweet freedom, I can already taste it. It tastes like.... vanilla.... raspberry vodka... Swiss chocolate... paradise... and all things nice.

If you don't feel like a soppy story, you might want to leave now

I'm feeling melancholy today, but not in a bad way. I feel transparent and a little bit vulnerable, as if my skin was made from paper. I'm touched by everything and would forgive anyone for anything and everything makes me sad, even the beautiful things. Or maybe it's the other way around, that there is beauty in sadness, but it doesn't matter. In any case, I'm not bitter at all, which is always a good thing.

I think the guy at the carpark set it off. A new company has taken over the carpark underneath my work, and there is this little old man who has started to work the cashier counter. He is so sweet and looks so scared that I feel like giving him a hug and telling him that everything is going to be ok. His nose is a bit red and he has the kindest eyes with this little twinkle in them. I met him the first time yesterday. When I went to pay he obviously didn't know that he needs to hit a different button for a scooter than for a car and made a mistake. He looked frightened when he realised and had this little scared smile as he went to get his supervisor who looked mean and was cold to the little old man and thirty years younger. I felt like shaking the supervisor and telling him that he has a responsibility as a human being to protect the weak. Instead I just smiled at the little old man and when I left I felt like crying.

I've got this thing for old people, especially when they look helpless or lonley. It breaks my heart. I saw this old woman today, sitting by herself at the take away shop, with her handbag and a cup of coffee on the table, looking lost and eating a sandwich, and it made me so sad.

When I went to pay for my ticket at the carpark today, the little old man was there again. I so desperately wanted to brighten his day a little bit with a smile and a few nice words. We had a bit of a chat and when he handed me my change he accidentally gave me the ticket back. I told him that he needed to keep the ticket for his files and write my registration number on it. He smiled a shy smile and said, "you are a wonderful woman for helping an old man like me." I had done nothing worth mentioning but it made my day that he looked happier.

I feel like bringing him a piece of cake tomorrow or something to make him smile again. I know, I'm just a silly soppy fool.

Quote of the day

"I drink champagne when I'm happy, and when I'm sad. Sometimes, I drink it when I'm alone. When I have company, I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I'm not hungry, and drink it when I am. Otherwise, I never touch it, unless I'm thirsty." - Lily Bollinger

That's not a bad way of looking at it.

You'd better be scared. Very scared.

Some of you might remember that I want to be a bikie. That's me on a friend's very impressive Harley. I'm such a bad ass that sometimes I scare myself.

(Damn, I wish I didn't smile in this photo.)

Pass me the hammer, will ya?

I shouldn’t be here. Really, I shouldn’t. But I just briefly dropped by to have a little cry and a bitch. I’m desperate for some sympathy, so please don’t let me down. And I promise you one thing: In four weeks when I’m finished with this degree, I’ll be little Miss Sunshine again and won’t whinge anymore. Not very much anyway.

I’m at the goddamn computer lab at uni, it’s almost eleven (Yes. At night.), my neck and my back are sore and my eyes burn while I’m writing on a 3000 word research essay about how the forces of globalisation are impacting upon the Australian newspaper industry. Without a hint of sarcasm, I can actually say that I don't mind the topic- it is somewhat interesting. The problem is just that I’m so tired and so terribly over the whole uni thing that I feel like hitting the guy behind me over the head with a book. He’s been on the phone to some girl for about fifteen minutes now and he has this whiney annoying voice and speaks really, really slow, which drives me absolutely insane. I’ve never heard anyone speak that slow. Seriously. I feel like screaming at him. Or snatching his phone and yelling at the girl, “Stop talking to this loser! He’s annoying!”

The reason why I’m working on this essay at the lab rather than at home is that my friends have decided to have some frigging pyjama party with movies and wine at home, which obviously is fair enough. Just because I’m not having any fun doesn’t mean they can't either. I would have a pyjama party too if I could. The only problem about this is that this computer lab stinks (yes, both literally and figuratively speaking). And I want to hit the guy behind me over the head with a book. Actually, make that a hammer. But I better get back to my beautifully balanced academic essay now.

Thank you for wasting my time. Now leave me alone.

I'm having one of those days today at work. It appears that a substantial percentage of all people who have decided to call me today, drop by without an appointment or liaise with me in any other way are either incredibly difficult, really bizarre, annoyingly undecided, disgustingly rude or just plain dumb. Don't you wonder sometimes what the world would be like if stupidity was illegal? Mhhh... that would be bliss.

Thank God my day receptionist Miss C feels the same way so at least we can have a bit of a bitch and a laugh together. Miss C is a real delight and often cracks me up when I need a laugh. She just put a call through to me before and announced it with "pain in the friggin ass is on the phone." And the woman's e-mail address is apparently "nightmare at hotmail dot com."

I don't generally let annoying people get to me too much, but every once in a while I wish it was socially acceptable to tell a client to just go to hell if they don't like it.

Bloody fair enough, mate.

I handed in my citizenship application on Friday. If all goes well, I could be officially Australian by Australia Day next year, which is the 26th of January.

This is so exciting. Just excuse me for a moment while I go and put on my stubbies and my rubber thongs and go have a VB in a stubby holder to celebrate. Damn straight, we are so classy in Australia.

Stubbies, mate. So bloody Australian.

Cheers, cobber, have a VB.












Good honest Australian thongs. Fair dinkum.








Keen for a tallie? Nah, I'll just have a tinny in a stubby holder, thanks mate.