Trysting Fields

Happy Birthday Liv

:)

Keep on purveying that awesomeness.

:/

There's nothing like hearing that a long-lost but much loved friend has died to put things in perspective.

At times like this I always fantasize about an impossible party; absolutely everyone who's ever been special or important to me throughout my life hanging out and being awesome together, with no consequences or liability.

I have much more out-there - and much less self-centred - visions of heaven, but I'd settle for that.

Blah

Freakley told me last night to turn my shittiness into art. Personal motto: "redeem garbage", apparently. This is what she told me when we first met in early '07, too.

"Make art!" she says.

She's good like that.

Trouble is, my shittiness basically consists of an inability to put any meaningful form or shape around anything. Narrative failure. Everything seems completely empty and pointless. Whinge piss moan blah.

When I crash, I tear myself to pieces trying to Figure Myself And Everything Generally Out - metaphysical arms flailing comically - until I feel my sanity seriously starting to disintegrate. Then I give up, and just live vacantly from one atomized moment to the next.

There's not much you can make from that. Got art? Well, no. That's kind of the problem.

That said, this here blog was originally started in a bid to pull myself out of that void. And it totally worked, over time.

But the last two times I've been seriously down since then (mid '06; mid '07), I didn't really talk about it much here. It seemed self-sabotaging to advertise it too explicitly. And also pointless. Natch.

I didn't really socialise, either. This time I am, a bit. I worry that's similarly self-sabotaging and is doing irrepairable damage to the relationships in question.

Contact with other people gives you (some) perspective, makes you feel less alone, and generally makes life a bit easier. All of which is nice.

But ultimately allowing people to see much of you when you're like this just weakens you further. It just fuels the negative self image which is getting you so down in the first place.

"Hi, my existence is a gaping abyss of infinite horror; I feel completely worthless and useless, and I don't really give a shit about anything except how useless and worthless I feel. Er.. how are you?" Doesn't help.

Meh; I'm on the up, gradually.

I was really in hell a few months ago.

I'm not in hell now. Just - yeah - a big ol' envoided vacuum of blah.

And I won't be here forever.

Hello, Blog (redux)

It's wet today. It's nice. I was woken up by the garbage truck at 9am this morning and realised I'd forgotten to put the bins out. So I did. Then I went back to bed until midday.

I started back at work on Monday. This is A Good Thing. I've become waaay too reclusive over the break.

I think my 'new' housemate - he still seems new even though he's been here three months, partly coz he went away for a month quite soon after moving in, and partly coz time has been frozen on Planet T lately - has decided I'm a freak.

He actually said this, more or less, late one drunken night in January. "It's funny the things you discover about people once you get to know them a bit better. Like you: before I started living with you, I totally thought you were normal."

I LOL'd. I was, actually, much more normal before he moved in. Or at least playing normal much more convincingly.

So it goes. I hope he doesn't feel conned.

We still seem to be getting along fine, even though he's decided I'm not normal.

What else? I got a new camera a few days ago, finally. It's a DSLR; sexy but overwhelming. I'm kind of scared of it. I haven't actually charged the battery and set it up yet.

But I will.

Stuff I Did This Year

On previous December 31sts, I've posted a bullet-pointed list of things I did the preceding year.

In keeping with the strategy I adopted at the start of 2008 - which consisted of being lost but unconcerned (and liable for nothing), and then just, y'know, seeing what happened - I'm not going to do that this year. The resultant twelve months have been much too complex and chaotic for that.

Stuff certainly happened. That it all went spectacularly wrong in the final quarter makes it easy to forget what an eventful and, for the most part, legendary year it's been. I made some awesome friends, brutally lost a couple of others (in one significant case, re-made and then re-lost, which was.. a bit upsetting), and had all kinds of adventures along the way.

Being lost but unconcerned, I started out with only one very minor concrete Goal: to make a second Mishukis album. In a single day. Then my computer died and all my internet accounts got hacked, and I went to Rainbow Serpent and witnessed the apocalypse. The liberator who destroyed my property realigned my perceptions, and even that humble project was forgotten; life took over.

In awesomeness terms, the whole thing peaked at Easter. It was all about the Smart Party (RIP, sigh), the return of baby sis, and reconciling with J & Henley (sigh, redux).

That awesomeness carried me all the way through winter, which - although not without its trials and dramas - pretty much went off.

Then, on my birthday, as triggered by the mother of all braincaving interpersonal trainwrecks, I dropped my LBU-LFN ball and the world turned. The following three months were discombobulated, angstridden, choronzonic, and Generally Completely Sucked.

There always has to be a meltdown at some point, apparently. Oh well.

I'm feeling a bit better now.

2008 was, see above, very significantly about people. Most notably my three successive housemates Cel, this woman, and Gr*ms*y; the SP, being Sims, Liv, Ramm, Allan (nominally), Porter (all too briefly), and this chick; my colleagues Henry & Wielgosz, Kinkel, Harrie, The Major, fucking Wouters, Kav, Cross, Interviewer 2003 and Coburg; also: the two Robins (just because neither are talking to me anymore doesn't mean they don't both rate a mention), Thad, Fr**kl*y, Em and Toots. Finally (again, and especially): G.

People are good. We're problematic sometimes, but I like us.

Happy new year.

SRC Xmas Party

(Link; link.)

Sunday Afternoon

No One's There, Victoria

Shed Party / Coburg's

Abort Abort etc

(Previously; etc, etc, etc, etc, etc.)

New Notebook / Thursday Night

Canberra Redux (Two)

Sunday.

Sunday.

Canberra Redux (One)

So yeah - Toots & I went to Canberra the weekend before last.

We grew up there. I left in 2004, and haven't been back since 2005 (previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously).

I Facebooked the whole trip from beginning to end in status updates and pictures from my phone. Which gave me a thrill. Fuck you if you can't understand.

(No seriously - fuck you, dear reader. Fuck you to hell. I hope your face is revoltingly disfigured by a horrible flesh eating virus. I really mean that.)

The 'Tendo suggested I post the whole mini-feed saga in all its glory here. But even I have my limits.

Here's some pictures and audio, though. Hover for captions etc.

Saturday

(To be continued.)

Things To Be Thankful For (Three)

Schnozzie.

Our relationship (whatever it is) has always been problematic and remains so in some ways. But then the best ones often are.

She's worth whatever effort she costs me. And dog knows, she more than matches me on my investment. I wish I could do a better job sometimes of making her understand how much I value and care about her.

She's has been a huge force for awesomeness in my life this year. She's a legend and I fucking love her.

Really do.

(Previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously.)

Things To Be Thankful For (Two)

Dinner parties of awesome.

And everything and everyone associated with such occasions.

Also: punching bags.

Presents I Got Given

As requested. (Previously.)

• A tin of bacon & egg-themed bandaids in assorted shapes & sizes
• Some plastic flies
• A copy of Mr Nonsense
• A spliff
• A packet of Starburst Babies
• A box of hot cinnamon gum bearing the legend "OH GOD I AM SO TOTALLY WASTED" (the preceding six items all from Patrick. Frikken legend; I only gave him a - y'know, nicely wrapped - lemon from my lemon tree and made him a card for his birthday.)
• A packet of Marlboro Menthols
• A bottle of cabernet merlot
• Two sticks of Kinder chocolate
• A tin of wasabi peas (mmm, wasabi peas)
• A glass bubble with bubbles in it costing $8.75 (heh, bubbles)
• A pair of new shoes (which I desperately needed)
• The perfect bedside lamp (beautifully inscribed)
• A blindfolded trip to the Werribee Open Range Zoo - and a lovely picnic and a lovely dinner gathering - with assorted awesome peeps, from a chick who likes animals
• An M2M CD of mysterious provenance
• A photo of a train passing through rural surrounds at night that only one other person apart from the person who sent it to me has seen
• A four-and-a-half minute voicemail that I will keep for ever and ever
• 60% of an iPhone paid off over two years (which I haven't actually picked up yet, because I don't want it to be cursed by association with the world of shit that was the apocalyptic writeoff week I've just had)
• Several very nice cards
• A bottle of black nailpolish
• Another bottle of black nailpolish

These last two items are particularly timely & appreciated.

Birthday

It's certainly been a memorable one. I liked it much better than last year's.

Prize for the best party guest overall goes to Patrick. Prize for the most liable for nothing party guest is a three-way tie between Shane, The Sorcha, and, of course, Coburg.

Prize for the best party guest who wasn't there physically but came in essence goes to Wads. Prize for the most missed party absentee is a tie between Em and this chick. Prize for the best party guest who did attend physically, but who I unfortunately never actually got around to talking to is a three-way tie between Li, Kav, and The Major. Prize for the best (if maybe in hindsight somewhat regrettable) picture of a My Little Cthulhu Bunny goes to Magnus.

Prize for the most devastating headfuckery goes to my housemate & ex-fiancee. Prize for the most comically hypocritical abusive emails goes to Henley. Prize for the most awesome drunken deep & meaningful alleyway convo goes to Liv. I'm not sure what exactly to award the artist formerly known as Semi, but I suspect he deserves a prize of some kind - or that if he doesn't now, he may well before too long.

Prize for the most broken nose goes to Luke. Prize for the most blood cheerfully & unsolicitedly cleaned up as a result of a broken nose goes to Harrie. Prize for the driest one-liners (always) and best wildlife photography goes to Ramm. Prize for the best shisha lesson goes to Nichk. Prize for the heterosexual male with the most sophisticated understanding of little girls' pop music (and also the special award for getting locked in the enclosed garden off my bedroom by a psycho chick person I'm sure is lovely once you get to know her, and then being too wasted to think of calling someone to let him out) goes to Grimsey.

Prize for the best nail-painting (and best former housemate ever) goes to Cel. Prize for the best hungover breakfast-making and tidying up goes to Kat. Prize for the oldest and most enduring friend goes to Tally. Prize for the best anonymous benefactor goes to whoever sent me the copy of M2M's second album I found in my mailbox yesterday.

Prize for the best present (y'know, apart from causing me to be born in the first place and shit) goes to my parents.

Prize for the best sister in the entire fucking world bar none goes to this bitch.

Prize for the best mistress - and inexpressible amounts of gratitude & love - goes to Schnozzie.

Thanks, everyone.

Interlude: Possibly Too Much - Possibly Not Enough

Chez Hagakure Vodka, Juice & Soda Water Low-Key Dinner Party

With AG.

Interlude: Return Of Soybean

She's back. Again.

Nothing will ever be the same.

(NB The extent to which nothing is or is not ever the same in your specific experiential sphere may vary in accordance with a range of factors - some known, some unknown; some known to be unknown, others unknown as unknown. The degree of liability expressed or implied by the above statement can be estimated at approximately one [1] wad of NADA. Hooray for everything.)

(Previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously, previously.)

Chez Hagakure Red Wine & Homebrew Quiet Night In

With Luke.

Interlude: Toots.

Interlude: Massacre.

Oy.

I regret burning W******. And I wish I could have been a better friend to Gab.

But what I feel really terrible about is taking J out for what should - by all rights - have been a night of awesomeness, and then exposing her to all that horror. Last fucking thing on earth that she needed.

EPIC FAIL.

Oh well.

ION: Still need a B#6.

Chez Hagakure G&T Sock Swap

With Liv.

(Previously; previously.)

Chez Hagakure Tea & Pizza Shapes Meet

Starring this chick.

(Previously; previously; previously; previously; previously; elsewhere.)

Chez Hagakure Bong Summit

Attending; presiding.

NBP!

LFN. :P!!

:)

xxx

(ION: \m/ (>.<) \m/)

TIA. (No, not that TIA.) (Necessarily.)

(LFN!!!)

(This post is dedicated to Mr R. Henley, who doesn't approve of this kind of thing. Appaz.)

Sitting Amongst The Wreckage

Watching Press Gang with Toots.

Teh life, it is good.

The housewarming afterparty was, as intended, a quiet affair. But it still went OFF. I blame this guy.

I have nothing else to declare except my ongoing, undying love for M2M. And that I have a new favourite word.

This is the first M2M video I ever saw, in 2002:

The final minute emerged randomly from under the end of something else I'd taped on purpose. I taped Video Hits all the way through for a month of Saturday mornings afterwards to catch it again. We had to do things like that in the dark days before YouTube and BitTorrent were invented.

Update - This footage is not particularly interesting content-wise, but I find Marit weirdly mesmerising in it:

I also like the bit where Marion asks Andrew G if he ate the worm.

Most Fucked Up Easter Ever (Y'know, In A Good Way)

So there I was, attending an uncivilised picnic in the park on Royal Parade, having a perfectly nice time & minding my own and a select handful of other peoples' business when who should call me completely out of nowhere on my - which is to say, someone else's - mobile telephony device but the J-meister.

(Previously.)

We hadn't spoken in the voice since November, when I drunkenly and unsolicitedly facilitated her and Henley's first ever verbal exchange. She's been in the country three weeks, apparently. Now she & the H-Dogg were in my hood. And they wanted to hang.

Headfuck!

The tone of her voice didn't make me feel like something she'd just scraped off her shoe, which was nice. So, throwing caution to the wind as I am wont to do on occasion, I went.

We met at Alia. We talked. We danced. A good time was had. It seems like we're all friends now. Which is totally what I wanted, although if you'd asked me twelve hours ago I'd have said this outcome seemed less likely than [insert comedy incredibly unlikely occurrence which in practice will never ever happen here]. They're totally coming to my housewarming and shit.

I don't know what else to say about all of this, but if ever something seemed blogworthy etc.

Hooray for drugs; hooray for Jebus.

Despite my cynicism regarding his religion(s), I am a fan of the man's work. That cunt was liable for nothing.

In Other News

I love my sister, so much.

Liv & Gab Done Got Blogs

Go read them. I got nothin'. Except an interminably unclearable email backlog. (Plus ca change etc.)

And, I guess, the news that after two years of global trekkage, an older, worldly-wiser Toots aka babysis is coming home today! To my home (ie Melbourne)!

Can you say "I'm fucking excited"? Coz I surely can.

Rainbow Serpent (Part 2)

Rainbow Serpent (Part 1)

So yes: about a month ago I accompanied my colleague and fellow Merrie Scrambler Major G to Rainbow Serpent. She'd scored a free ticket and needed a handbag company; we went halves.

It was incredibly excellent.

I captured a lot of media, and thankfully had the foresight to copy it off my phone before it died. Then my computer died. Etc blah blah.

Here at long last, etc.

To be continued.

Okay.

It's a bit hard to to know where to start.

*thinks*

So my computer's sound recording facilities had been playing up, right. Had been for a while. It was no good. I wanted to make an album.

Thus on the morning of January 15th, I called a taxi and took the old gel into town to be serviced. They told me it would take four days. It wound up taking three weeks. But they did it.

In the meantime, I got totally hacked. First teigan@gmail.com, then [mylegalname]@gmail.com, my blog and my Facebook accounts all stopped accepting their passwords across the final week of January.

On Friday the 8th of February, I got my computer back. On Saturday, I threw a party. This is where we came in.

Upon getting reputered, I created some special email accounts and conducted a few experiments. Via these I established to a high degree of likelihood that my hacker was good old Henley. Somewhat predictably, I lost my shit at him.

On Tuesday 12th, I attempted to boot my newly restored digital handmaiden only to discover that - four days after returning home to me - she had totally, totally died.

I was 'puterless once more.

Then the following night - Valentine's Eve, no less - none other than Henley's girlfriend, a former close associate of mine, claimed responsibility for the hacking via SMS.

Leave the poor petal alone, she said. He's innocent.

I was skeptical at first, but when she told me that teigan@gmail was wide open for resetting (Quick! Jump up and find an open internet cafe at 2am etc), I realised she was probably telling at least some weird Lady-J-since-she-turned-feral version of the truth.

Why had the former love of my life done this to me? She'd written to me at another account, she said - one of the ones she hadn't violated and locked me out of - explaining everything.

Only problem was, I had (of course) been changing all my passwords like a demon - without having gotten around to making a backup or a hard copy of any of them. From my computer. Which had since - you will recall - dropped totally, totally dead.

In other words I was now not only 'puterless and locked out of my hacked accounts, but 'puterless and locked out of all my internet accounts.

Then in the early hours of Sunday 17th, Wouters dropped my last remaining link to civilisation phone in a full glass of bourbon & coke.

Oy.

Various people have eased my journey through this Durdenesque ordeal, and thanks are due.

Mishuki of Hagakure 419 fame was good enough to let me use hir Facebook profile. My colleague in social research, fellow FB tragic and soon-to-be-housemate Celestine has been extremely generous with her 3G handset, enabling me to update my status in something akin to the style to which I've become compulsively accustomed. Thad gave me a safe-haven email account on his server. And last Tuesday, having learned that my dead six-year-old eMac would cost $700 to reanimate, my long-suffering parents offered to buy me a MacBook. Which was very nice of them.

I picked it up this morning. I'm using it now. It's lovely.

(I'd take a picture but since the destruction of my phone I've got no working digital camera, except the one inside said MacBook. And its eye is not prehensile. But here's a picture of the box:

)

And now I have my accounts back.

Things are gradually returning to some semblance of what passes for 'normal' on Planet Teigan.

*flops exhaustedly*

Apart from all of that, I have mostly been going out a lot - having, y'know, not a whole lot else to do - and taking quite a lot of acid.

It's been.. awesome, actually. Can't complain.

Oh, and I got engaged on Saturday night. I think. But that's a whole other story.

Welcome back, blog.

Coming soon: the long, long-delayed multimediatastic Rainbow Serpent post.

Party IV

Went off.

Oh, what a mess! Though. Liable for mess.

Also, someone stole my weed. I'm a bit unhappy about that. But that's what I get for leaving it unattended in the garden.

So it goes. It was all worth it. Hooray for parties.

Reputered.

At long freaking last.

In the meantime, my two primary gmail accounts, my Facebook account and my TypePad (blog) account were hacked & rendered inaccessible. Oy.

I've managed to resecure the blog account, at least, thanks to a friendly cookie which recognised my machine. Bless that cookie. No damage appears to have been inflicted. The only evidence of intrusion is that the answer to my secret security question ("What is your mother's maiden name?") has changed from "Symington" to "whore".

Charmed, I'm sure.

Cunts.

Here - nested all meta-style - is an earlier entry I scrawled freehand on Tuesday, and was planning to post at the 'ternet caff that evening but couldn't, because I'd been hacked:

Munted.

Is the word of the week. As in "Man, I got munted on Saturday night." And I did. I really did.

At 10pm I was summoned by Wouters to a party in the Brunswick area. I was only going to stay out for two hours or so on account of: (a) I was supposed to be working the following day -

(In other news: I started working at the doodle palace again last week; it's been almost as much of a shock to my system as Rainbow. But in a significantly less good way.)

- and (b) I didn't actually know the person who's party it was or anyone else who was going to be there. Or so I thought..

As it turned out.. ah, it's quite a funny story, but it's also a bit complex and at least four of my five remaining readers basically know it already.

Suffice to say a munting good time was had, this being only improved - and further enmunted - by the semi-random appearance of none other than the mysterious and extraordinary Thad at an advanced stage of the evening. (Update 8 Feb: I've encountered him twice more since then. I think he's stalking me. Or someone I know. But I don't mind at all.)

I didn't make it to work. I'm not sure how I made it home. I'm really not.

In other muntedness news, I'm having a party tomorrow night. It's going to be pretty good. If you are reading this and you know my street address, you can come.

Wither Reality Blogging

Feed my narcissism, you cunts.

Walking Home From Carling's House With Celestine

Wither Comments

Looking at old TF posts for the purposes of linking to them in more recent TF posts, I was struck by something: No fucker is commenting here any more. (Except Liv. And Li. And Wortwut. And the odd Neurocam random combing the archives.) (Gotta love those tenacious, cockroachlike Neurocam randoms.)

Where have you gone, beloved blog massive?

Do you not love me any more?

Is it because Lady J doesn't love me any more?

That's it, isn't it.

It is. Don't lie.

Actually, I don't think that's really it at all. It's all about me. (It is always all about me.)

To get perhaps ill-advisedly personal for a moment (Li will enjoy this):

Towards the end of 2005, I had Learned To Love Myself. Man. Really, truly had. It was nice. It had been a long time coming.

And I got lots of comments in those days. Because as we all know, if you love yourself - like, really, truly do - then everyone else will love you too. Everyone who matters, anyways.

LJ fell in love with me at around this time. And that was great. But then I think I became dependent on her loving me in order to love myself. So when she stopped, I kinda stopped as well. Et voila: blog comments? Thing of the past.

It's more complex than that, naturally. But it's One Way Of Looking At Things. Makes a lot of sense to me.

This is partly the reason people sing the blues when their partners leave them. It's partly that you just desperately miss having them around, course; it's partly the shattered dreams of future happiness; it's partly the sense that all this time and energy expended on getting to know this person really, really well and them getting to know you really, really well, and building trust and constructing a shared identity and blah blah blah has all gone totally to waste. It's partly because you feel like a part of your very soul has been ripped out, leaving a huge gaping hole in your psyche.

But it's also significantly because you've forgotten how to love yourself without someone else to back you up on it.

That's really, really bad though. You shouldn't need anyone else to love you. And the more you do, the less they will.

Am I wrong, non-existent blog readers?

It's one of those perverse inverse dynamics that The Universe is so fond of, for some sick twisted reason that I will never entirely understand [*] except maybe when I'm on nitrous oxide.

Ah, sweet nitrous oxide.

It will never leave me. Until they make it illegal.

(Why isn't it illegal? It's so good.)

[*] NB This is disingenuous; I do in fact understand perfectly. It's because people are attracted to power and personal power derives from self-sufficiency. But for the purposes of allowing this post to form a nice, natural arc, I had to pretend to be stupider than I really am. Funny how that happens sometimes.

Stuff I Did This Year

(Previously & previouslier.)

I missed most of 2007.

It started excellently, and ended okay. Adventures were had, things were discovered; it was not a total dead loss. But overall it will not be remembered as a banner year on Planet Teigan.

This year, amongst assorted other things (see archives), I:

• Misguidedly started a BA at Melbourne Uni for the second time, and then dropped out after a month for the second time.
• Got kinda down.
• Just about survived winter without going totally insane or throwing myself under a train.
• Gradually got better.
• Got totally ditched, in my absence, by the artist formerly known as Lady J after an extremely Significant & Intense 18-month relationship.
• Spent approximately 680 hours conducting telephone-based social research for money. (The weirdness, the horror, the tedium etc). (Also: The doodling.)
• Somewhat overambitiously applied & was interviewed for a BFA at one of the premier art schools in the country, despite having basically no traditional visual art-type skills or talent at all. Was not accepted.
• Spent what probably cumulatively amounts to several months on Facebook.
• Drank quite a lot.
• Various other things which are none of your damn business. Who the hell are you, anyway? Who are you really? etc

I Met Jesus On Christmas Eve

At an impromptu picnic on a hillside next to the Myer Music Bowl. Seriously.

He said his name was 'Gerling', but his true identity was unmistakeable.

Meredith (Part Two)

(Interlude: Fitsy.)

Meredith (Part One)

I went to the Meredith Festival on the weekend.

It was awse, and then some.

(From their Frequently Given Answers:

No, it is not possible to sneak in. Vicious dogs and armed mercenaries patrol the fences.

NB This is a total lie.)

(To be continued.)

Happy Birthday Again, Toots

(Previously.)

Actually, I get the feeling you'd deck me for calling you "toots". ("Mistress"?)

Even though I do not know you, etc.

Eating Tears etc

Who's Haus? Li's Haus. Etc.

Yeah, Y'know? It's Wednesday & I Needed Something To Post About etc

(It is All About The Blog[*].)

I was also feeling a bit stinky and jaded about people including but not limited to myself, and for both of these reasons it was all quite serendipitous and I-heart-the-universe that a much beloved friend chose yesterday to give me a semi-random present which - although a relatively small thing in itself - was both a :)-inducing gesture, and well-novel and blogworthy and shit.

It's a pocket edition of Twister in the form of a little plastic box, with the spinner on the front and the dots - which are about the size of fifty-cent coins - stashed in a sliding drawer underneath. It conveniently doubles as a keyring.

(Unfortunately I've now, almost immediately, gone and lost it. So I can't post a picture like I was planning to. I have to make do with words, which is unfortunate coz I'm kind of over them. But so it goes.)

It's not very practical. If you wanted to play, you'd also have to be carrying some kind of adhesive to fix the tiny dots in place on the ground, or wherever. It's hard to see the whole thing working out. But that doesn't matter.

Without wanting to go into benevolence overload and make everybody throw up: hooray for semi-random presents, and those rare people who bring us nothing but goodness generally. Yay for things that make us happy. Even if only passingly so in some cases.

Life is transitory. Yes it is.

In other news, my jury selection hearing today went well, in the sense that as chance would have it I was not selected to serve on an actual jury.

In a way I was disappointed; it might have been an interesting experience. But I can't really afford the time off work. Stupid needing money to live etc.

Now I am going to bed, because between one thing and another I'm so sleep deprived that I'm starting to hallucinate.

Good night.

[*] NB It's so not really All About The Blog[**].

[**] Although I do love my blog.