WTF Gemsy, you twonk.
Actually my evening's been quite dull, and a bit faily. I was messing around with new hoovery bits and a screwdriver and my fubar Dyson (I broke said new hoovery bits and ended up just ordering a new hoover). Then I picked glue off of some old tins for crafty purposes (and cut myself in the process). I started planning Christmas, got pissed off, and planned to cancel Christmas, made disgusting cookies (and gave them to Didz), did two loads of laundry in my cute baby washing machine, sat by the fire and drank about 10 cups of coffee (spilt some on the carpet and melted my kettle handle a little bit). Then I sat down to eat some walnuts that tasted a bit like paint and watched two awful films. That's a lot of THINGS, right? So why do I always feel like I've wasted all my time when I've done a lot of THINGS (even if they all turned out hilariously disastrous)? It reminds me of when I went through that bout of GAAAH a few months ago. Five windows and EastEnders (argh Yusef gtfo!) on the go all at once, and still bored.
So, I be getting on with useful, creative, interesting things. I been makin' foods. I maked curry and soup and bread and all sorts. I'm staying in this weekend and will make more cookin' in mah kitchen, and make use of some of these lovely books I've blagged... I might sit here and play some musics and time will whizz by and I'll think I've done nothing because I don't seem to recognise that I'm actually doing things. I always go to bed feeling like I've not done anything. Like I'm getting no feeling of accomplishment, or whatever, even if I consciously know that I haven't stopped for breath all day.
ANYWAY. I love living here. Some bits of town look like they belong in a rural village and some look like the posh bits of Covent Garden. Didz and I get so much attention everywhere we go. Our local doggy park is gorgeous. I still don't have my parking permit so I park my car at the Winchester and walk home across town from there. Whenever I nip into/walk past the pub for whatever reason, peoples ask me to stay for a drink! Nice peoples! I hardly ever go out at the moment though because I'm really scared about money and I never feel very sociable. I love it when people pop round mine, mostly, but I never want to stay out anywhere for a drink or round someone else's for a cuppa or whatever. I guess that's quite rude; expecting people to come to me. Is it? I'm LOVING all this space, though. I spend my weekends listening to the evil laughing ducks outside my bedroom window, strolling about the park and chillin' on my chaise longue. I'm in a quiet little schizoid bubble of glorious cocoon-like win. Heavenly. I don't need to go out at all this weekend 'cause my shonky old cupboards are full and I don't have any errands to run or gigs to play or see or any pesky sociableness to participate in. And I have some CUSTARD. Hell yeah.
For paws that do dishes.
So, I be getting on with useful, creative, interesting things. I been makin' foods. I maked curry and soup and bread and all sorts. I'm staying in this weekend and will make more cookin' in mah kitchen, and make use of some of these lovely books I've blagged... I might sit here and play some musics and time will whizz by and I'll think I've done nothing because I don't seem to recognise that I'm actually doing things. I always go to bed feeling like I've not done anything. Like I'm getting no feeling of accomplishment, or whatever, even if I consciously know that I haven't stopped for breath all day.
ANYWAY. I love living here. Some bits of town look like they belong in a rural village and some look like the posh bits of Covent Garden. Didz and I get so much attention everywhere we go. Our local doggy park is gorgeous. I still don't have my parking permit so I park my car at the Winchester and walk home across town from there. Whenever I nip into/walk past the pub for whatever reason, peoples ask me to stay for a drink! Nice peoples! I hardly ever go out at the moment though because I'm really scared about money and I never feel very sociable. I love it when people pop round mine, mostly, but I never want to stay out anywhere for a drink or round someone else's for a cuppa or whatever. I guess that's quite rude; expecting people to come to me. Is it? I'm LOVING all this space, though. I spend my weekends listening to the evil laughing ducks outside my bedroom window, strolling about the park and chillin' on my chaise longue. I'm in a quiet little schizoid bubble of glorious cocoon-like win. Heavenly. I don't need to go out at all this weekend 'cause my shonky old cupboards are full and I don't have any errands to run or gigs to play or see or any pesky sociableness to participate in. And I have some CUSTARD. Hell yeah.
For paws that do dishes.
