jikokeno3.3

Status

It's been a while since I wrote anything about myself. I guess putting the short story on here wasn't all that good an idea. It's received no comments at all, and therefore one can only assume that it made absolutely no impact or impression whatsoever. Ah well, I guess I'll try deviantART.

The reason I've not written anything personal is multifold. Firstly, I have been fairly busy, and more on that later. Secondly, those happy pills simply numbed me entirely, and thirdly, I seem to have blossomed a life outside of the internet, and it's taking a lot of effort to maintain such a thing.

Well, busy. It's a tough one. The thing is, I ditched the pills. Before that, however, myself and a close friend got a little closer than we were previously (despite a date of sorts which didn't go too amazingly back in March or so), and are now in a relationship. Her name is Terhi, she's Finnish, and I cannot - for love nor money - pronounce her name correctly, either first or surname. There's a rolled 'r' in there somewhere. Anyway, as a result I call her Liz, and as such whenever she is referred to on this inter net it shall be under that nickname. I'm not going to go into details, purely because there is little more banal and degrading than discussing anything of note, specifically about another person with whom one is close, on the internet. What I will say is that I am in love with her, completely and utterly, and she feels the same way. Which, if you think about it, is awesome. She's awesome, we're awesome, it's all gravy.

Onto the pills. They were fogging things up, messing up my flow, all up in my business and fucking up my shit. I decided to get rid of them when I was just sick of feeling fatigued all the damn time, and once the bad feelings had been pushed aside, all that hit me was apathy. Now, apathy is one thing I'm very good at. In fact, I'd say I was a connoisseur of the subject. I do not need a chemical apathy treatment when I've got that situation handled. At the end of the day, I'm a control freak. It may seem odd of me to say that, considering the chaos in which I live my life, but hear me out. I'm in a hell of a lot of trouble, both financially and at work (more on that story later), but it's trouble which is directly down to me. Everything in my life is down to me. And I like that. Yes, they're problems, but they're my problems - not ones that my mother has generated, not ones lumped on me by work, mine. It's the same with my schedules and things. And my apathy is my business.

In short, the pills were rubbish. I know I didn't give them the required time, but after being told I'd feel a change after three weeks, and all I felt was nausea and migraine, I felt enough was enough.

Coming off them was a bitch though. The morning I did I went to work and ended up going home early due to vomitus. I went in the next day and this time was sent home for vomitus. I am currently on my verbal warning when it comes to absense - any more time would require an investigatory hearing most likely resulting in a final written warning, meaning that my next illness would result in my dismissal. More on the Shop Direct Absence Policy later. I'll start by first telling you that the day after being sent home, I took the day off. I wasn't in any fit state to work, and so I went to visit the doctor, knowing that this was very much my last chance at work. The doc could see that the reason I was having the troubles, and indeed the trigger for getting the damn pills in the first place was indeed my employer and its policies, and so he wrote me a note for two weeks of absense, due to anxiety.

I have been at home now for two weeks. Tomorrow is my first day back at work since the 20th of August, and I'm bricking it. And so now, the moment you've been waiting for, that bit I promised "later" has arrived.

The Shop Direct Ltd Absence Policy is set over a period of nine months. Essentially, if you have three separate periods of absence within any nine month period, you are brought up before your manager and given an investigatory hearing. I had this. The first absence was as a result of a migraine, brought on by stress from the company not paying me on the correct date; having one's loan defaulted and one's rent late is somewhat stressful, I'd say, and so that was number one. Number two was the crushed hand - I went into work but then signed out to go to A+E. Because I'd not worked 50% of my shift, it was classed as a full absence.

The third absence was due to vomiting and migraine from my first batch of pills. I had two days off anyway after, and returned on the following day. My investigatory hearing was scheduled for the day after. Sadly, I was ill that day, the same reason. My manager, Scott, reckoned I shouldn't have come in the previous day either, just had the one period, and empathised with my situation, relating the two together - essentially, that last absence didn't count. I received my verbal warning and was told that another absence in the next nine months would result in another hearing.

Well, that happened as I've said. One thing that makes me quite angry is that this company seems to punish you for genuine illness. Sure, it's in place to stop skivers, but what about me? I really wanted to make a go of things this job. Sure, I've skived in the past, taken the odd day when I wanted, but this is a new job and I know I need to keep it. It's easy work and damn good money, and so I need this one to stick. On thinking about it and evaluating it fully though, all of my absences have been caused, either directly or indirectly, by the company. This two week period (which I'm sure is going to lead to more shit as I'm more than likely not going to be paid for it) was due to anxiety at the prospect of being sacked when I go up in front of the hearing. I'm angry and scared for my job, especially because they love sacking people there. I'm terrified.

And that is me. It's been a good two weeks, and I feel calmer for them. Now, I'm petrified that I won't wake up tomorrow, my sleep patterns being what they are, and so I'll sign off now. Maybe I'll even get some sleep. I just hope my hearing will be scheduled tomorrow, because by God if I have to wait I will not cope.

Adieu.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 9:21 PM  1 comments links to this post

Sometimes I write short stories

Today was not going to be a good day.

Looking at the broken clock on the mantle, she groaned at the time. Nine-thirty-five in the morning. Time to wake up. The fact that the clock always said nine-thirty-five was irrelevant. There was stuff to be done, and she wanted to make sure she was ready by nine-fifty.

Lifting her head from the pillow was more than usually a bad idea, especially following the more than usually great night previous. Good nights always had their consequences. This particular consequences was the inimitable feeling of having swallowed a live herd of nasty little chinchillas which were currently expanding in her gut as they fought for air. The feeling of having to stage a chinchilla war within her internal organs got the better of her in the end and, having just made it to the bathroom at the right time, unleashed a projectile flood of acidic bile and the remains of last night's dodgy kebab. Groaning, she checked her wrist-watch. The real time was seven-forty-three. Hangovers always woke her up before she needed to be awake. The Gods of Justice were cruel bastards.

The shower was better. Clean body, clean mind, or at least she'd hoped so. Letting the tepid water trickle over her clammy skin was tantamount to summer rain, cooling her down and settling her stomach. She even smiled, though she hadn't noticed.

Stepping out onto the cold bathroom linoleum, she stood for a while; not thinking or feeling anything, just enjoying the cool breeze on her wet body. Of course, good nights do indeed have their consequences, and, rather sadly, the Gods of Justice were not finished with her yet.

It was when she was walking back to her bedroom that it hit her. One of those cruel and creeping pains that wait in the back of your mind until you're feeling the best you think you can be. They lurk in the darkness until you're sure that you've avoided it; and just when you're moving on to other happy thoughts, then it hits you.

And it hit her hard. A shot of intense, crippling pain, fired seemingly from the metaphorical anti-aircraft rocket launcher positioned at point-blank range and aimed at the back of her head. A wave of nausea accompanied the blast, and she was sure she was going to be sick again. She wasn't however, though she was sure that would have helped. The pain was simply awesome, in the literal, non-Californian sense of the word. One day, historians of the future will look back on this headache as one of Earth's greats; she, however, simply wished she could die.

She drew up a quick pros-and-cons list in her mind. Jumping out of her window; that might not work and lead to more pain. Hit by car, again, the pain may just get worse. Try as she may, she could not envision a single method of suicide which would kill the pain and herself quickly and without fuss. That's it then. Got to survive.

Her quest for painkillers was diverted about halfway through by the shrill, disgustingly loud rintone on her mobile phone. Fumbling almost blindly around the crap in her room, she found it and pressed "answer," just as the caller hung up. If she had looked at the screen more closely, she may have found something odd about the fact that no number presented itself on screen. She may even have wondered as to why all of the liquid crystal pixels had arranged themselves into this archaic and eerie looking symbol upon ringing. Instead, she delighted in ripping into the packet of Nurofen Plus hoarded under her bed, and threw four into her throat before drowning them with three-day old water from her bedside cabinet.

She sat there, motionless, in pain, almost on the verge of tears. She reached over to her answerphone and hit the glowing red button. Just one message. Eddie Sang, best friend and study-buddy, asking as to her whereabouts.

Shit. She'd meant to meet him at eight o' clock to prepare for their nine o' clock lecture. She stood up, a little too quickly, and was about to remove her towel to commence her clothing, when her mobile rang again. This time, she did notice the eerie display, and would have thought it odd had her headache not kicked her brain at that moment. She answered the phone.

"Hello?"

Nothing. No noise, no hiss, no crackle. Nothing. Not even silence. Juniper felt the strange sensation of absolute awe inspiring love coarsing through her entire body. She suddenly felt as though she knew everything. She could see everything that past, the great history of Britain, with its wars and eras and periods and more wars, and then to the present, to her mother and her sisters and brother, and to Eddie, whom she loved a lot more than she'd realised, and to an odd man in a suit and hat, with an other-worldly pale face and sharp features, to the future, to a great struggle to save humanity, to being crowned Juniper Blake, champion of earth. Visions of herself in battle armour, glinting with blood and rain water, with a steel-eyed glare on her face and a sword to rival Excalibur in her hand. And still wearing Converse All-Stars. Oh well, can't change the world overnight.

The call ended. She dropped the phone onto the floor, and the thud woke her up. She stood in the centre of her pristinely ordered bedroom, fully clothed and with her rucksack in hand. She stood, perplexed, wondering why she was in such a situation. She looked down at her wristwatch. Seven-forty-two. Perfect. She was going to meet Eddie Sang, her best friend, to prepare for the nine o' clock lecture. She picked up her phone and left her room, locking it behind her.

And then she smiled. Memories of last night's brilliant party came flooding back, and her smile widened. She looked up at the sky as she left her flat. Surely she should have a hangover, feel slightly nauseous or something. But no. She was feeling fantastic.

She praised the Gods of Justice for failing in the best way possible, and strolled through the park to Eddie's place.

Today was going to be a good day.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 10:54 AM  1 comments links to this post

I just can't stop breaking down

Well, breaking things down. This week, a bitch and a half I might add, I have succeeded in somehow causing my laptop to be unable to connect to wireless internet, on the day we get the wireless internet connected at the new house. I stepped on my fantastic sunglasses, causing them to snap in an irrepairable way, and upon plugging my iPod into the desktop PC, a system crash managed to wipe it all clean.

The latter I am most annoyed about. That iPod, only 30Gb though it was, contained some tracks I recorded from vinyl, some I've recorded myself, When The Saints Go Marching In by Ding Trouserleg - one of the best songs in history - and several other rarities and such that I will not be able to download. I guess I can now start from scratch, and this would be a great opportunity to indebt myself even more for a 160Gb machine, but it just seems like a lotta hassle. I had a hell of a lot of music on there.

I'm at uni at the moment. You know, in my mind back in 2005, when I left The Co-Operative Bank to come to university, I didn't really have a plan for post uni life. I certainly didn't imagine I'd be living here, and even now, almost a full year after I began my slow progression from student to drop-out, I'm still using the university's internet. To be fair though, I blame them. My ID card still allows me to use the printers and photocopiers, and the computers still allow me to log on. Someone's not been as diligent as they should have been, and I have every confidence in their inability to do so in the future. Which is nice, as the internet is superspeedyfast.

This week really has been, for lack of a more flowery and pretentious word, wank. Utter wank. And it's mainly been due to the shift patterns at work, I'd say. When I was in training and the like I loved working the 0800-1530 shift, cause by the time the rest of my team came in at 0930 it felt like I hadn't been there very long, and leaving at 1530 with them not leaving until 1700 made me feel like it hadn't been much of a day at all. This week, however, it was just a pain. Having to go to bed at 22 fucking 30 because I have to be up at 0600 was starting to get a bit - and please excuse the pun here - tiresome.

Thankfully, it's all lie-ins from here on in. I have the weekend off, including today, and next week I'm working Monday, and then a day off on Tuesday, then working Wednesday, and then - glory be - a week's holiday. The best thing is that I only booked the five days off in order to attend the Big Chill festival (monetary situations for myself and compadre have ensured our non-attendance), but because my days off for the week after fall on Tuesday and Wednesday, I wind up with the full 7 days off. That, my friends, is nice. Even better, my lie-ins can start now, as my shift next week for those two days is the fucking glorious 1415-2145. I love that shift so damn much.

Money is tight. I should be getting some back from work shortly; I took an eye test on a whim yesterday and it turns out I do actually need glasses for my long sight, computers and whatnot. It may even be that it was this lack of spectacle that was causing my recurring headaches for the past year and two thirds. Said spectacles have been purchased, and due to the lens costs I've gone for the "I'm too poor for spectacles that encompass my entire eye so I've gone for this tiny, childlike affair" frames. £150 altogether, this cost me. I'm to take my receipts into work on Monday where Manager Scott will send them to the relevant department and get me mah damn money back. Exactly how much cash I'll get remains to be seen, but I don't see why I shouldn't get everything. After all, one could argue it's the constant exposure to the screen causing my eye problems.

But yeah, expensive eye correction aside, I'm so poor I cannot afford to pay any of the bills from the previous house, nor rent or deposit on this one. I need to contact nPower and BT to get some kinda payment plan set up, one I could actually afford. One month I'm just praying that I will have the money and security to get everything paid and live happy - even if it is just for one month. You know, see how the other "insert a percentage encompassing the vast majority of normal people who know what to do with money and don't fritter it on new duvets that actually fit and new bedding sets that you like the look of here" live.

Eurgh. I'm bored, I'm hotter than hell, I'm doing my laundry (which should actually be done round about now) and I'm feeling emotional. Thing is, I'm not overly sure as to which emotion I need to use. I'm restless, all the emotions running through me, and I just don't know what to do about them. Two nights ago, I took a bit of glass from a broken cup and used the shard to carve a set of neat, regimented lines into my left arm. It was scary actually. It's not just 3 cuts on my forearm, but around 20-25 from near the shoulder to near the wrist. I generally prefer to use glass - you can go quite deep without a lot of effort; this time, I bled quite a lot. I don't usally bleed all that much at all. Genuinely bizarre, and I've ruined a t-shirt out of it. Yep, my prescription medication is doing me real good. On saying that, I'm not blaming them. I'm merely remarking on their usefulness, or lack thereof.

Does anyone else think that the new look Facebook is proper shite? I'm not happy with progress when it looks as bad as that.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 3:08 PM  2 comments links to this post

Pill Diary

Hello, children.

It's like, going so great for me. My comic's getting more hits than it has ever received, I got a great review in my one to one review last week, and work has just been fantastic. The only thing is that I wish that I could actually say things like that and mean them. Now that'd be a great way to start a diary post.

Come on man, it's a Saturday and it's 7.22 and I'm up and awake and ready to hop on down to the bus stop to work for another fucking 9 hour shift, filled no doubt with idiots with too much credit getting disappointed to the point of tears when they find their unnecessary order is out of stock. One woman on Thursday told me that to be told that her item was out of stock was like a "shot from hell." I shit you not and I quote directly. A shot from hell? Let us pray that you never get cancer; I'm just not sure you have the similes or metaphors to deal with that kind of crisis.

Right, let me see. Comics. Dead Ends finally restarted in what I hope will be the end of the crappy absences. I feel like a bit of a fraud when I tell people about the comic and I've not actually updated in a month or so. Friday's comic still hasn't been uploaded, but looking at the pencilled artwork of Friday Part One I'm fairly sure you'll agree it's worth the wait. In any case, it'll be online before Monday, I'm thinking Sunday afternoon/evening. Like I said, I've got a 9 hour shift today which is inconveniently placed between 9.45 and 7.15. Add travel times to the mix and it means that the bulk of my day is out of bounds. I'll see what I can get done during work, but I doubt there's anything I'll be able to do.

Work... well, I had my disciplinary hearing. I didn't get my expected final written warning which I have to say is a good thing. If there's one thing I am good at it's talking around things - it took Skipton two extensions of my probation before they finally fired me. I managed to convince Manager Scott that the two absences were related, which to be honest they were, and he decided not to go ahead with the warning. I still got a verbal from the first absence, but that's something I can handle. I can only hope now that I manage to stay awake in the morning long enough to get to work on time. Well, just get to work. If I have another absence in the next 9 months I could be dismissed.

And... the pills. I've noticed not one single iota of a difference in the way my brain works. I've been cheerier at work, asking customers how they are and things, which in turn has led to me taking loads of unauthorised breaks because I feel my head is going to explode. A few headaches here and there, and a bit of nausea when I first took them, but two weeks into my course and that's about it. Oh, and a bit of impotence, but let's face it, that's hardly a problem with me. No, as far as I'm concerned, it's a tablet I take when I wake up that is so far doing as much good for me as a sugar pill. On saying that, the "doctor" said I need to give them three weeks to work. Three weeks out of a course of four seems very lucrative. As soon as you realise you need them you have to shell out another £7.10. Nice strategem.

But yeah, as far as I know I'm still Cos. At least, I think I am. I still find Cos a worthless idiot, so that can't be a bad thing. I'll know to come off the pills when I get a bit of self worth I reckon. That'll be the decider.

Oh, and incidentally, thank you to my friends who commented on that last post. I finally got around to telling folk at work, and I think that's a good thing. I told my mum, and that was not a good thing. She kept me on the phone for an hour, and actually said "Well, they'll give out antidepressants for a headache nowadays," which kinda sucked a bit. She was on antidepressants, and what, I've got nothing to be depressed about, is that what you're saying? My pain isn't as much as yours? What to say, what to say... oh yes. Fuck That Shit.

Right, 7.51. Cigarette, toast, out. In a bit, y'all.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 6:08 AM  1 comments links to this post

So, what're we on?

It's 10.21am on Friday, 11th July 2008. And for the second time this week, I've called in sick. Monday was a sick day, Tuesday and Wednesday were days off anyway, and Thursday I turned up.

I had a return to work interview, and because I've been off sick 3 times in one 9 month period I have a disciplinary... today. I told Manager Scott about my "depression" and explained that this was the reason for my absence on Monday. He said it was fine and was even trying to ensure I wouldn't get a disciplinary. Unfortunately, he couldn't do it, and a disciplinary was booked for midday today.

And today, like Monday, I wake up with a minute to go before my shift starts. I really don't know why this keeps happening, but I'm not putting much hope in the idea that I might have a job when I walk into the office tomorrow. I really didn't need to be fired from this one. I need the money like you would not believe. I'm sat here in the university library looking for personal loans and not even looking at the interest rates - that's how skint I am. I need the money so damn badly that I am willing to pay 3 times what the loan is worth in order to get the cash now.

I'm fucked. End of the line. No job, I've still not paid the rent on the new house, I owe nPower a shitload, BT a shitload, my mobile phone, my first personal loan, and I've now got HSBC up my arse trying to get me to pay into that account. IT'S NEVER GOING TO FUCKING STOP! As soon as I feel I've done something good, or moved in the right direction, something always comes in and fucks things up for optimum effect.

I'm so fucking sick of this. You know, I wouldn't have to worry if I was dead. Fuck.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 9:12 AM  0 comments links to this post

On Psychology

I called in sick to work today. I really didn't want, nor did I mean to. I woke up fine and dandy at 6am, giving me ample time to get ready, but I then fell back to sleep and didn't wake up until there was five minutes to go before my shift started. My sleeping patterns have been horrendously varied recently, and I don't like that. I called into work telling them I'd be around an hour late, but on reflection decided I couldn't really do a day's work in the mind-frame I was in, so I called back - this time getting through to Manager Scott - and told him that due to food poisoning I would fail to make an appearance.

I'd been in Manchester all weekend for Jack's 70th and, whilst I didn't have the food poisoning I claimed to have, I wasn't feeling all myself. I'd spent most of the party hiding in my old room upstairs on the computer; as was getting more and more frequent, I just didn't want to be around a population of people I neither knew nor wanted to know. Jack and indeed all concerned had a great time by all accounts, which was good. Jack was in his element, really chuffed. I'd bought him a personalised keyring in the shape of a Manchester City football shirt, with the name "WATLING" and number "70" on the reverse, and my mum had found a Man City wallet to go with it, so it seemed perfect. But anyway, I digress.

I called the doctors' as soon as I'd put the phone down on Manager Scott. I don't know why it dawned on me today, but I decided that enough was enough. The lady on the reception at the doctors' kept me on hold for 12 minutes before telling me that in order to book an appointment for tomorrow or Wednesday (my days off this week) I'd need to call up on the same day to book an appointment. I hung up. Being prepared for tomorrow or Wednesday was fine, but going to this appointment was a big deal for me, and I didn't think I'd be fully ready today. Instead I went into town.

I had no agenda in town whatsoever; I had no need nor reason to be there, and meandered aimlessly, hitting McDonald's for lunch I can't really afford, and then various banks for personal loans (money worries - you know me - have now reached the stage where I'm in a new house without having paid the deposit or first rent payment - more on that later), and then the bus back. It was on the way, or maybe beforehand, I can't remember, that I decided that - fuck it - I was going to go to the doctors'.

I went in and made the appointment 45 minutes in advance. I went to the churchyard that had seated my behind on many occasions during my friendship with Niina, and sat there and smoked and sent various messages to Sarah. I went back in to wait for my appointment and waited for what seemed like an hour. It was more like 8 minutes, but I was as nervous as hell.

For those of you who know me, and have read this diary, or have talked to me at length, you'll know that my personality flickers between "alright" and "utter hopless." I get really intense downers that leave me drained and thoroughly unhappy, and I've been a self harmer for around six years, which is when I can remember and attribute the badness starting. This has generally been your common or garden cutting of the flesh, which has been based mainly on my left forearm, and my right and left shoulders. Recently, however, I have been scraping my hands on walls to draw blood, and have, in the past, burned myself on matches. I actually went to hospital last week on fear of a broken metacarpal when I punched the wall in frustration. I'd merely bruised it, but my middle right knuckle is still a lot larger and squishier than I would like it to be.

Upon my mother's recommendation (she is a sufferer of depression) I went to see a doctor, who most helpfully told me to get out more and make new friends. This, of course, made me feel worse. But anyway, it was that first doctor who first put me off seeing medical practitioners at all. Subsequent trips about various other ills have proved just as fruitless, and the medical practitioners in question equally as - in my humble opinion of course - incompetent.

I don't know why now, but I went for it anyway. The doctor asked me questions about how I was feeling, and based on the results I apparently rank quite highly in the depressive stakes. She diagnosed me with depression and recommended both chemical and cognitive therapy. I sit at my computer now with a box of citalopram at my side, and an order to go back when they're done to discuss counselling, which they're to give me for free.

I'm not sure where I stand on either result. The pills... I'm really rather wary of them, despite my readiness to purchase them at £7.10. The side effects are slightly horrifying, and the fact that they will, without doubt, change my neurochemistry and as such myself as a person does put me off a little. The counselling I'm simply not a fan of. I'm sure it helps some people, but I can't see it helping me. I'm a private individual, despite the blog here, and talking face to face to someone about my inner workings sounds like neither fun nor games. I'm really not sure what to do.

You know, I thought that once I'd been told it was definite, that I actually suffered from clinical depression after years of assumption and speculation, that I would actually feel something, like relief or sadness or resignation or something. I don't feel anything. Now, however, I have a choice.

In other news, I've moved house. That's why there have been no comics recently. I'm writing this on the internet I've got thanks to my phone being a modem. It's costly, but I needed to write this. I'm glad I did.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 4:39 PM  8 comments links to this post

A Design For Life

It's weird. I'm a jack of all trades, and truly a master of none. This week, and I shit you not, I have written a review for the music and movies review site I will be setting up shortly, have recorded 3 songs and done the artwork for the debut TMDT album, constantly comicking during work, and have written and am currently re-writing the beginnings of my first novel. I suppose at the end of the day not a lot of people can say they've done that of a week.

I wasn't boasting there, I'm simply saying. I'm in the clutches of a major downer, with the staple money worries being the main contender, as well as the inability to book time off this week to move house, which this is this weekend. But, on the flipside, my subconscious is overcompensating by making me uberproductive. I've been doing all of my comics at work, and way in advance. I suddenly, and unexpectedly decided to record some songs and now I'm only 7 songs from completing my album. Me. An album for Christ's sake. And writing the novel, and the storylines for Dead Ends and Dead + Ended, it's just something I've never really done with such tenacity before.

But yeah. I mean, I've decided now that anything I consider an ambition should be happening. I'm 22 for the sake of the lord, I shouldn't be waiting for these things I want to happen to me. I want to be a musician, I'll record an album. I want to be a cartoonist, so I'll get me a website and some pens. I want to be an author... of either a novel or graphic novel I'm not sure, but unless I start writing it'll never happen anyway. I want to be known for something, so I'll create several websites, including a personal blog, a reviews site, a comics site and a hub for it all. I want to be self-employed... let's print some t-shirts.

I really don't know where this has all come from. I'm at a transitional period I guess, with the house move this next weekend like. I feel I should be wearing a blue checked shirt. If you get the reference, if you don't it's fine. But you should probably watch more.

Landlords are coming round nowish. I hate them. I've avoided them successfully since I moved in here. No such luck now. I need to talk to them about switching the electric over to their name. Eurgh. Wish me luck.

EDIT

Landlord came. Landlord went. The entire exchange lasted something around 45 seconds, and then she talked to Daniel and such. That was somewhat brilliant. Thoroughly painless, to coin a phrase.

Anyway, I'll continue with the post. This weekend has been odd. Finished work on Friday at 7.15 and came home, where for one reason or another Daniel, housemate extraordinaire and brother from another mother was sat alone playing games. Sofi was out partying, and we indulged in an impromptu Doctor Who marathon - just in time for the most recent episode which was shown yesterday. FUCK ME. It was very, very good.

After watching said most recent episode, went out with Daniel to meet with Campbell, Tom, Sam, Doctor and Powell, Si(gh) amongst others at The Cardinal's Hat. I'm not going into the details of the night, as I've gone through them enough already with folks, so that's that. Very good night though. Fucking weird as fuck, but good none the less.

Fancy an Angel Chef now. Let's do it.

posted by Cos Ryan @ 3:18 PM  3 comments links to this post