Brains...
The world according to Raven is... expensive. And busy. And full of god-assisted fare dodging.
I have kept all my receipts from the last month to this month in the hope I could foretell how hideous my credit card bill would be. (Why of why have my finances never recovered from that bloody month's delayed pay?) I have spent £200 quid - and the way my life is at the moment I'm not sure if I should applaud or be mortified. This means I have about 50 to last until the end of the month - theoretically an achievable possibility. Part of my problem (I freely admit) is that I bought a stack of manga because my neurons were bored and also a punky little red kilt because my neurons detested how I looked and hoped said item of clothing might improve things. (For the curious, the manga cured the boredom for a day and the kilt makes me think I could look rather good, so I guess it was money well spent...)
For the past week I've been hiding in Hatfield and doing art for Grim's up and coming "Bloodsucker" game. I have drawn 'fat wench in industrial strength corset' and 'desperate little goth boy' amongst others. Oh the pain. Come on people, we all bitched about Cammies and took the piss - now go buy the game that turns this pastime into a rpg hobby!
On Saturday I came back home without a ticket (although not for lack of trying) and twice escaped the clutches of ticket gates and ticket inspectors by praying to Anubis. It is wonderfully satisfying to see inspectors get called away and rail staff not ask obvious questions when one passes.
Today in the bookshop I put a spare hour to good use by writing a duel for my brother's film. He's back from wherever he went off to so I expect he'll be demanding I write more stuff and have convoluted discussions with him about plot.
This eve I wasted time making icons and trying to persuade large .gif files to become small .gif files. It is an ongoing battle. One day I will triumph, but for now I'm going to bed.
PS - does anyone remember how Vanity Fair really ended? I swear she didn't feck off to India with the fat bloke and live happily ever after as the film proclaims... But then my memory is comprised of a half read book, English Lit snippets and a series watched when I was 10, so is questionable at best. I should just read it properly, shouldn't I?
I have kept all my receipts from the last month to this month in the hope I could foretell how hideous my credit card bill would be. (Why of why have my finances never recovered from that bloody month's delayed pay?) I have spent £200 quid - and the way my life is at the moment I'm not sure if I should applaud or be mortified. This means I have about 50 to last until the end of the month - theoretically an achievable possibility. Part of my problem (I freely admit) is that I bought a stack of manga because my neurons were bored and also a punky little red kilt because my neurons detested how I looked and hoped said item of clothing might improve things. (For the curious, the manga cured the boredom for a day and the kilt makes me think I could look rather good, so I guess it was money well spent...)
For the past week I've been hiding in Hatfield and doing art for Grim's up and coming "Bloodsucker" game. I have drawn 'fat wench in industrial strength corset' and 'desperate little goth boy' amongst others. Oh the pain. Come on people, we all bitched about Cammies and took the piss - now go buy the game that turns this pastime into a rpg hobby!
On Saturday I came back home without a ticket (although not for lack of trying) and twice escaped the clutches of ticket gates and ticket inspectors by praying to Anubis. It is wonderfully satisfying to see inspectors get called away and rail staff not ask obvious questions when one passes.
Today in the bookshop I put a spare hour to good use by writing a duel for my brother's film. He's back from wherever he went off to so I expect he'll be demanding I write more stuff and have convoluted discussions with him about plot.
This eve I wasted time making icons and trying to persuade large .gif files to become small .gif files. It is an ongoing battle. One day I will triumph, but for now I'm going to bed.
PS - does anyone remember how Vanity Fair really ended? I swear she didn't feck off to India with the fat bloke and live happily ever after as the film proclaims... But then my memory is comprised of a half read book, English Lit snippets and a series watched when I was 10, so is questionable at best. I should just read it properly, shouldn't I?