Recap:
I'm going to Barcelona to see Pearl Jam on the day after my birthday! Short notice or what?
I had a rubbish dinner. My mum ate my dinner that Dad made me, and left me to eat a
!@"%^&*$ baked potato. But as sexy good ol' Father John said "The worst sin is not being able to forgive others," or at least I think it was that.. Anyway, it sounds good so I'll stick to it. I'm in a not-so perky mood due to the greyness outside/ rubbish dinner/ sad book/ my family just ticking me off. Nothing a few hours of the O.C and a gallon of tea won't fix.
Kirsty is back, I went to see her but she was sitting sleeping on the couch with Mr. Crow half over her face, I didn't have the heart or the balls to wake her. Mr. Crow is a knitted scarecrow ragdoll thing we spent many an afternoon adventuring with when we were little. Much like how I sleep with "the fat" to whoever is not associated with the Fat, it's a smooshy heart pillow-type thing. Highly comfortable.