shroud ourselves in the cosmos; let the music play

Flatmate is going home for the weekend, but before she left, we had to have this conversation (paraphrased, of course):

Flatmate: I'm sorry I didn't run the garbage disposal the other day, but please don't write me an angry note. I have to read angry notes and e-mails all day at work, and having to sit down to that at breakfast while I'm trying to get ready made me have a terrible day. I would really rather just talk it out.

Sigma: Sorry, it was a knee-jerk reaction, because I communicate better in writing than in speech. And we've talked about this several times before, but it clearly didn't sink in then, so I thought maybe seeing it in writing would do the trick.
(also i was angry and in general don't want to talk to you.) (no, that part did not happen out loud.)

Flatmate: [Dither dither] I know I am not consistent about the garbage disposal, but I do some things that you haven't done, like mopping the kitchen floor, or cleaning up the cats' vomit on the carpet. I want to know that it's alright for me to ask you to do things, as well. I would really feel better if we could just talk about these things, I think we're better friends than that.
blah blah blah [I can't remember what else I might have said here, I think I just made neutrally polite noises]
I know you're really busy and stressed out about grad school and stuff, but if you want to hang out, just tell me. I'm never sure if you're working on something or just surfing the web, so I've been going to Boyfriend's a lot, but I'd really like to do more stuff with you.
blah blah blah
Anyway.... [in a small voice] can i have a hug?

We hug

Flatmate: [begins to leave] [turns back to tell me gossip about her co-workers/former supervisor that i don't actually give a damn about since I'm trying to go back to my homework] [finally leaves]

Ugh. See, I want to live alone so I don't have to have these kinds of conversation. I have to screw up a lot of nerve to talk about stuff that bothers me, and usually addressing it just makes me more uncomfortable and bothered (not to mention really spooked and shaky afterward) (especially if confrontation is sprung on me like this), but if I'm the only person living there, stuff that bothers me will presumably be my own damn fault and I can either suck it up or fix it. This business of diplomacy and compromise? Not so much. At least, not in my own home. I don't want to have to be diplomatic in my own home, I am diplomatic and polite out in the world all fucking day.

Also, Helpful Hint: If I am taking refuge in my room and being uncommunicative, it's because I don't want to chit-chat about your day, or watch The Simpsons, or whatever. I want to be by myself in my room and unwind, or space out, or (god forbid) do homework. The door is open so the cats can roam freely about the house -- not because I want company.

And finally, thank you for skipping town while the cutting board, which is covered in parmesan cheese from your dinner two nights ago, is still sitting on the counter monopolizing the largest and most useful cooking surface.

No, you guys, I know I'm a bitch. I know.

So, wooden cookware doesn't go in the dishwasher, right? Because the long time in the water, and then the heated dry cycle, are bad for the wood -- it makes the grain split and dry out. Are we in agreement?

Flatmate, apparently, is not.

I have a set of pretty nice bamboo cooking implements -- a spatula, a solid spoon, a slotted spoon. I used the slotted spoon the other day (yesterday? really, it's only been a day?) to make fried rice, and I washed it by hand and left it in the drying rack. More fried rice today (because I need to finish both the rice and the broccoli before they go off, yeah? it is of mild urgency), and I went to grab the slotted spoon from the drying rack, but it wasn't there. Nor was it in the drawer where it lives when it's clean.

Where was it? In the dishwasher, slathered in spaghetti sauce. And you know, I had wondered the other day why the grain was fraying.

See, last year we didn't have a dishwasher, and while I was bothered then by not-clean clean dishes and trash in the sink, it's worse this year, because not only is Roomie not here to be a buffer and to commiserate with, the dishwasher has always been my chore. There is a right way and a wrong way to use your dishwasher, and my way is The Right Way. Period.

Flatmate's is Not.

(we've had the conversation about Rinsing Things For The Love Of God before, too, but, like the Run The Goddamn Garbage Disposal conversation, it apparently DOES NOT SINK IN.)

I CAN HAS MOVE OUT NAO PLS?

I really should be working on that ed project right now but instead I'm kind of... de-braining via internet. Because today contained about 5 hours of bassoon-and-contrabassooning (wind ensemble + Mozart sectional + playing through Mahler so my fingers re-learn it) and it completely wiped me out. Seriously. I'm staying home from my 8-11 class tomorrow morning (so I can drag my ass to campus for rehearsal at 11 instead), and I'd better get some of this project done in that time, but I'm not holding out much hope because omg I feel like death right now, and that's after I've been at home hiding in my room for two hours doing nothing productive at all, so I have no idea when I'll be up and running tomorrow. I promise after this post I'll buckle down and work on it, I will. Because I suppose I can't really count on getting anything done on it tomorrow night after the concert, which I'm sure will effectively finish me off, following as it will on the heels of 5 hrs rehearsal + 2 hrs work.

Just took my temperature -- 97.8 degrees. Haven't taken any kind of anti-inflammatory since 5pm. Should I be worried? Or is that within the realm of daily temperature fluctuations? It seems quite low to me. Then again, I've been sitting still and my room is quite cold (but turning on the heater makes the air too dry for comfortable breathing)

Flatmate apparently just took some time to go through the fridge and actually get rid of food she doesn't plan to eat/has allowed to go bad. Asked if there was anything I wanted to get rid of with her stuff. No, because I don't buy/cook 3x as much food as I can eat and then forget about it for a month in the fridge because I buried it haphazardly under new groceries. Seriously. One shouldn't need refrigerator space that is greater than the volume of one's own body. And while Flatmate is definitely not slender, she ain't that big. (Chrissake, she's probably not even five feet tall. That itself eliminates a lot of potential volume.)

Another thing that bugs me -- Okay, I get that she has to move the seat so that her feet reach the pedals when she has to move my car, because I am 5'6" and she is 4'something-less-than-12". But does she really need to change the rearview mirror every damn time? I don't change her mirror when I move her car. I turn around and look the fuck behind me. Christ. Sometimes when I am really hacked off, I adjust her seat, rearview mirror, and steering wheel. Because I am a bitch. I really hate tandem parking. And I really hate that Flatmate's car makes obnoxious noises and that it always takes me at least two tries to throw the damn thing into reverse because her transmission is fucked.

Also my feet are freezing despite socks & a blanket, and I am motherfucking hungry because I haven't had dinner yet but I didn't want to have to interact with Flatmate while she was puttering around the kitchen and living room.

Being sick also increases my levels of aggression and misanthropy, apparently.

---

@ 23:49
Since I'm clearly not done fucking around on LJ for the night, and I still haven't eaten anything and I still don't want to work on my damn project, can I complain about the Mozart sectional today?
- Second Oboe (who I already knew to be a Big Fucking Flake because I had to be in a scholarship quintet with her for over a year) said she would be available at 5:15, but apparently she actually had a midterm. And then she didn't send an e-mail about it until about 3:30 TODAY, when three of the remaining four of us were already in a large ensemble rehearsal. Which, btw, goes until 5:00, so when that was over we pretty much went directly to the appointed sectional room and set ourselves up. (the remaining member didn't get the e-mail either, because she was on a bus on her way to campus. btw the sectional was the ONLY reason for her to go to school today.) My Favourite Oboist saved the day, though, by offering to sit in and fill out the chords when Maestro encountered her in the hallway. Honestly, we were both laughing inside because it was so classic and finally other people are realising Second Oboe's flakiness. But still. Now we'll have to go back and re-check the tuning and balance sometime tomorrow, because of Second Oboe's FAIL.
- New Master's Bassoonist is good, and I like her a lot, but she has now had a month to learn the tendencies of her shiny new Fox 601. She shouldn't still be having problems like Being Sharp All The Time. She should be at the point where she knows how to adjust her reeds to the new horn so that her setup is in tune.
- And then the ENTIRE rest of the sectional consisted of Maestro walking Faily Sophomore Flute through the bajillion things she has to do to pull her weight in an orchestra wind section, such as: tune octaves with the oboe, tune unisons with the oboe, blend with the oboe, balance to the oboe, count rests correctly, come in correctly, adjust the intonation if it sounds wrong at first, play in time with the solo piano's subdivisions, balance to the solo piano, match articulations with the rest of the section, and OH YEAH PLAY IN TUNE. I fail to see why Maestro put her inexperienced ass on this piece. SHE IS THE EPICENTER OF SO MUCH FAIL. Actually, I'm pretty sure that if he had known beforehand that it would take this much hand-holding, he would have put someone else on the part. SOMEONE WITH LESS FAIL, MY GOD.
- Also, my ears were really stuffy and it apparently made me unable to hear the upper harmonics of my notes, so I had massive intonation paranoia, but apparently the only problems I had that Maestro corrected were with my top space G, which is SharpSharpSharp. And then I overcorrected because I couldn't hear where the note was resonating properly because I couldn't hear the upper harmonics. I really hope my tone wasn't as stuffy from outside my head as it sounded from inside my head.

As a SPECIAL BONUS, I had sound sensitivity during wind ensemble, which makes me have paranoia about whether my ear infection is cleared up or not. Or maybe it's just that the trumpets who sit behind me are too DOUCHEBAGGY to aim their bells around/past my head, rather than at it. And I also apparently picked the Wrong Distance to sit from the horn-player-next-to-me's bell -- I suspect that I would have been getting a lot less SOUND-IN-THE-FACE! had I been either closer or farther away.

HOORAY!! And now it is AFTER MIDNIGHT and I AM STILL NOT ASLEEP and I HAVE STILL NOT EATEN and I HAVE STILL NOT DONE HOMEWORK but at least I am DONE FUCKING VENTING.

Dear Sirs,
I would like to submit for your consideration the possibility that, if one is incapable of wiping up one's own spills in the kitchen, one cannot with any credibility call oneself a "grown-ass woman."

srsly i don't know what it was but it was congealed and it went all the way back to where she keeps her vitamins against the wall and it came up into little squishy strings and balls when i tried to wipe it up. disgusting.

In other news, still sick. Staying home from work and class, but I'll go to orchestra rehearsal because there's today and a short Mozart wind sectional tomorrow (OMG SOPHOMORE FLUTE FAILS AT COUNTING. FAILY FAIL FAIL. I DON'T KNOW WHY SHE'S ON THIS PIECE BECAUSE THE FLUTE SECTION FOR IT IS JUST HER AND SHE IS FAIL) and the day after that is the dress and the concert, so I have to be there. Even though just walking across the alley to the post office (to pay my electricity bill -- significantly more than the gas bill) made me want to take a nap. Here's hoping I can (a) survive the uphill trek from my parking lot to the music building and (b) fumble my way through rehearsal without incurring the conductor's wrath.

Also: Flatmate's chicken soup is uncharacteristically and disappointingly bland. Vastly improved with liberal amounts of salt. :c Still, v. kind of her to take pity on my pathetically ill self and share. More happily, Saturday's pumpkin mush is delicious :)

Flatmate's reaction to finding guavas in fridge: Whoa, what are those fruits?

My (internal) reaction to Flatmate finding guavas in fridge: What exactly are you doing poking around in opaque bags in the crisper drawer that is mine? we have two crisper drawers and you and your excess of food and ineffecient usage of space are already taking up 2/3 of the fridge instead of half, you can't have my crisper drawer as well. >:c

My (out-loud) reaction: GUAVAS. *continues readying package for mailing in bedroom*

Wow, I'm kind of a bitch. Whoops.

In other news, I've been doing a lot of bassoon-related soul searching. My lessons feel a lot like therapy. It's.... weird. Last week we talked about prioritising and so this week I practised like a mofo, which felt good, even when I got really frustrated. (and I did get really, really frustrated. more on that. like, wanting to smash things frustrated. also, it worries me that my immediate reaction/urge is to turn to physical violence, be it smashing a reed or saying, offhand, "Punch him/her in the face.") Yesterday was about decreasing muscle tension in my hands and arms, which was fine, except to do that we spent about 45 minutes on JUST that, playing the top fifth of the top octave of an e-flat major scale. And then we spent the rest of the lesson talking about my frustration and what is causing it, because it was fairly pressing this week, and because we'd broached the topic last week when I mentioned that Dan and I are talking about grad school and he asked me how I feel about my playing and my initial reaction was something along the lines of "Oh, no."

--------------

And then I fell asleep. I should probably mention that the "frustration" talk involved me crying. *sigh* But all is well! Except I was a little annoyed that I didn't get to play any of the pieces I've been learning, because I worked the shit out of them.

Good morning, y'all!

oh godddddddddddd

the kittens are BOTH!! under the comforter but on top of the topsheet, and attacking my toes through it. Which is adorable! Especially the warm, soft, kitten-sized comforter lumps. BUT OH GOD IT TICKLES

oh thank god they stopped

-----

Dear Flatmate,

I know I tend to take curves on the freeway, especially the ramps, quite fast. I know my car handles well enough for me to do so. You going "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" in the backseat is not entertaining, cute, or endearing, and it does not make me want to slow down, either. It just pisses me right the fuck off and makes me want to go fucking faster to teach you a lesson so shut the fuck up.

p.s. You telling the kittens loudly that their nails are sharp and need cutting does not endear you to me, either. I will cut the kittens' nails when I think they need it and when the are relaxed enough and I have the time. Being coy about it does not make the confluence of these events any more likely. shut the fuck up. maybe if you didn't insist on holding them when they don't to be held, you wouldn't encounter their claws. I haven't had problems yet.

p.p.s. I won't thank you for finally cleaning the stove and the countertop. I am quite relieved that you did because the mess you have left unattended for several days was on the verge of becoming a biohazard (seriously, that bowl that you used for defrosting the raw chicken sat out three days, and that fork with the raw egg was from yesterday morning), but I refuse to thank you and congratulate you for doing something that should be automatic and prompt -- not a special feat deserving a reward. And while I'm glad you finally picked up most of your shit that was scattered around the living room, I see no reason for your flip-flops to still be under the coffee table. You don't even wear them why the fuck should they ever be out of your room.

-----

so I FINALLY completed week 2 of my running program, after attempting it for three consecutive weeks. Wednesday was 1000x easier than Monday, and Friday's 4:1 was not the most torturous ever, and yesterday was almost pleasant -- I ran in the evening, from my parents' house to the fire station and back, while they were on their walk. I was sort of with them but not really, in the way that I ran ahead of them for four minutes, then for the walking i doubled back towards them and we had time to meet up and say hi before I had to run off again. It worked. Also, it was dark and cool, which may also have been good. I've noticed that Mondays are super hard, so I did "30 min easy walk" today instead of "rest" in the hopes that it makes it less daunting to start again tomorrow. We'll see. (yes, I do know that athletes should take a day off every 7-10 days, but I think it might make it easier to start again tomorrow if I didn't do nothing today.)

Mum and I went shopping yesterday afternoon -- for once in my life, I went to DSW without buying anything, but fear not! I made a list of shoes to find pictures of and then maybe we can have a poll or something about whether I should buy new shoes and if so which ones. I didn't get a red dress either, or a new concert blouse (my old concert blouse I still love, but it is getting a bit faded. sadness!), but I did get new jeans (much needed) and a belt and a shawl, and two button-downs (one white, short-sleeved, and okay I guess, and one off-white, long-sleeved, slightly more casual, and GORGEOUS), and two waistcoats (i am filled with joy) (one is solid black with a full back and pointy lapels, the other is grey-brown stripey and it goes in a band around the back, then has adjustable elastic to connect that band to the "collar". It's less spiffy than the black one, but I still like it). And they were on sale and mum had a gift card and everything.

Tomorrow I have an orientation for the school of education, and supposedly all will be explained and we will no longer be confused and worried. It starts at 8.30a though, which SUCKS.

Tuesday will be full of the busy also. Plus, I'm going to bring the kittens to visit the library. O.o

Thursday night is orchestra auditions. Bassoon at 8, contra at 8.30 (appointments are 15 minutes each.) I'm feeling pretty good about contra -- the excerpts must be easier than last year's, because I've been able to practise them intermittently and it's still gone smoothly. Bassoon not so much. I kind of inadvertently took the last few days off because I am a bad music major, and so I'm a little apprehensive. Plus, my tempi are too slow for the fiddly excerpts still, my Mozart is Not Tidy Enough, I'm pretty sure unintended rubato is happening in the slow excerpts, my reeds are fighting me, and ... I'm worried. I feel like as much as I wanted to prove myself last year, because I was a senior dammit, the expectations are even higher this year because I'm a fifth-year and I gave a good recital and my main competition are the new master's student, who has the same number of years of experience as me but will have better parts anyway unless I really kick ass in auditions, and the same two-years-younger moderately flaky technique whiz who has been kicking my ass in auditions since he arrived. And I just don't really know how I was so motivated last summer, but not this summer, even though this summer feels like higher stakes.

P.S. I still haven't finished gathering info for grad schools. But if I want to audition anywhere I'd better find out what excerpts/pieces/etudes I need to learn, and soon. Bugger.

The kittens are demanding breakfast ever earlier. Today Ducky was in my face at 6:30. Which I guess is still better than Baxter waking me up at 4 yesterday for no reason at all. But still. (Today I did make them wait until 7:15 before I would actually get out of bed. But they were retaliating by sitting closer and closer to me, thus forcing me further and further into the crevice against the wall. When I finally did get up they effectively had me confined to less than half of my own bed.)

2:1 was harder today than any other time before. I had to take extra walking time in the middle. Plus, my iPOS was all run down this morning so it was just me and the sound of my breath and my feet, which makes it seem so much longer. And then a bird shat on my shoulder.

I feel defeated by my own life.

Also, why do we have a gallon and a half of milk in the fridge? If the old milk is bad, you FUCKING POUR IT OUT, you don't leave it in the fridge. If the old milk is fine, why the fuck would you buy new milk? FUCK I NEED TO LIVE ALONE SO MY HOUSE WILL MAKE SOME FUCKING SENSE.

My new running shoes feel good, though. Plus they are pretty.

Asics Gel Landreth. purple.

Advantage applied, but I'm not sure how exactly I'm supposed to keep them from grooming the medicine off of each other, and then getting all foamy because it's icky-tasting, and then freaking out about getting all foamy, when I work all afternoon. Still, it's been nearly an hour with no incidents, so I'm just gonna cross my fingers and hope.

EPIC VACUUMING: Epic indeed. I started outside with the scratching post and the cat carrier, which have been gathering dust and ashes on the balcony for the past two weeks. Then, the dining area, the kitchen, and the walkway behind the couch. Then I moved the armchair and the coffee table off of the rug and then vacuumed the chair, the throw pillows, and the futon mattress. Then I vacuumed the rug and put the furniture back. And then I vacuumed my bathroom and bedroom. (If Flatmate wants her rooms vacuumed she can damn well do it herself.) The kitties hid under the bed all the while, except for the part where I vacuumed under the bed -- that was when they ran away to the other room, and now they're snoozing under the dining table (they like the chair cushions).

And I am sweaty and hot and my back is sore from bending to vacuum and my hand is tired from clutching the hose, but hey, the floors of my flat are clean! Also, I managed to stash the vacuum in my closet, which is quite an improvement from having it stashed in the dining area.

THINGS WHICH I AM QUITE SURE DO NOT BELONG UNDER THE COUCH:
- Flatmate's flip-flops
- Flatmate's sunscreen
- an old issue of some newspaper insert or something called Cinefamily (guess whose? NOT MINE)
- a magnetic chip clip (the last time I saw it, it was on the refrigerator. wtf is it doing under the couch???)
THE MORAL OF THE STORY IS: It would be really awesome if Flatmate could keep her clutter out of the living room. I mean, I've managed it so far. Next year, I'd like to live alone, please. I'll take the smallest studio apartment in existence, as long as it has a kitchen and north- or east-facing windows (well more like window, singular).

O HAI LUNCHTIEM!! I CAN HAS CHEESEBURGER? (well, no, I'm gonna make myself a salad.)

With... well, just me, really. No Jimmy Fallon, no Tina Fey, no Amy Poehler, sorry. (Can you tell from that list when I have watched SNL?)

FIRST!! I have seen NO FLEAS for the past few days. VICTORY IS MINE, Y/Y???

I cooked a lot this weekend! and by 'a lot' I actually mean that I made Rice-A-Roni (but hey, at least it's on the stove and not in the microwave, yes?), I steamed broccoli (this time in the microwave, but it was fresh broccoli), I baked cheese bread (this link goes to copperbadge's recipe, because he is brilliant. I used havarti, smoked provolone, and asiago as my cheeses. I had too much salt in the herb mix, and next time I'm definitely switching the oregano for rosemary because I don't particularly like oregano, and I left it in the oven slightly too long, but the bread came out a lot fluffier than the first time I tried it (with p'tit basque and asiago) which was lovely, and anyway, my brother liked it), and I made crepes (filled with Nutella, pear slices, and peach slices. whipped my own cream, too! whipping cream + sweet vermouth (which was admittedly a little strange) + a splash of almond extract + a heaping spoonful of sugar when that wasn't sweet enough + LOTS OF ELBOW GREASE EH because I don't have an electric hand mixer and couldn't be fucked to get down the stand mixer and dirty yet another bowl okay?) for breakfast today. Plus I made myself a martini last night, and mixing is almost like cooking, yes? (I needed to finish the old gin because I bought new gin and had to justify it. don't judge me okay??)

btw, for those of you who don't know, a martini is this:
in a shaker: ice, gin (I like Bombay Sapphire but I'm too posh for my own good), "fond memories of vermouth" (I actually use a liberal splash, but I love that quote. Who said that?). And everyone says "stir, don't shake, you'll bruise the gin!" but I can't be arsed really so I stick the top on and I turn it over once or twice and then I strain into a glass (a cocktail glass, properly, but we have no cocktail glasses (they were Roomie's -- man I should get my ass some cocktail glasses, and some wine glasses) so thus far at the new apartment I have strained martinis into margarita glasses and, last night, into a coffee mug because I desperately didn't want to make even more washing up for myself after doing the washing up, then cooking, then washing up again). Garnish with olives impaled on a cocktail sword or something, I generally stick two onto a toothpick and call it a fucking night. Or if you're posh and you don't fancy olives you could garnish with a twist (of lemon peel), but honestly, who wants to make a goddamn twist? Plus I like olives.

I didn't used to like olives. Funny. I wonder when it changed?

Anyway. I had myself a bit of a Torchwood marathon this weekend, in between cooking and washing up and going to the market and attending a family function. I had stopped in the middle of the first series before Children of Earth aired in July, and now I've finished that and gotten about half-way through the second series, which is considerably less mockable than the first series. (Not mock-proof, note. Just less mockable.) And I kept getting ideas for shit, and jotting them down in my "fragments" file. So I might start writing again, god save me. Fanfiction.

No, I'm not sure I mean that the way it came out. Many good fanfiction authors are very much Good Authors In General, or at least have the potential to be should they every quit their day jobs. And it's not shameful, to have ideas and create things inspired by something you're into. It's not inferior to original fiction, but it has that social stigma, like pretty much every aspect of fandom. And I'm done denying who I am, right? I'm embracing the things that make me who I am, especially the geekery, so you know what? I am an avid reader of fanfiction. And I have been a writer of fanfiction, and I may become one again.

It's kind of crazy that Torchwood has gotten so much under my skin. I love it on a campy sci-fi level, and a Gays On TV! level, and an Actors Are Attractive People level, and a caring-about-characters level, and a fandom-makes-awesome-things level (fic, art, vids, icons) -- but then there's also the meta things: I like to read what other fans think about episodes, characterisation, themes and messages, and other fans' ideas. And I have had a lot to think about because of fandom, and because of the way I personally react to this show. It's led me to define and articulate what I think about love, what I think about relationships, and it (and even more so Doctor Who) has reminded me to appreciate the wonder of the world and the people around me. I don't think I was this consumed by Animorphs, or X-Men, or Harry Potter, or even Lord of the Rings. None of those have been so... thinky for me. Well. LotR got pretty scholarly-thinky, but not as personal-thinky. V for Vendetta and its message about integrity (Valerie, anyone?) was a step on this path, but it was nowhere near the level of personal growth Torchwood has triggered. And yet, it's a plot-holey, bad-sciencey, , campy, darker-edgier-sexier spinoff of a show that I didn't even properly watch before Torchwood sank its teeth into me. How can it have become such a phenomenon in my life?

It's very smoky in my area tonight.

The kitties were roughhousing on my bed earlier, but now they're just chilling. Baxter definitely jumped face-first into the wall a couple times, though. Uh.

Ducky (formerly Dizzy, formerly Maybe-Vasco-Maybe-Quantum) likes to sleep in the crevice that my bed makes against the wall. I guess it's probably because my apartment is hot and the wall is cold? But it worries me when I accidentally bump him or put a limp partially on top of him and he makes no complaint. What if I roll onto him in the night or something?

This morning I woke up and the kitties were curled up on either side of me, dozing and purring. It was brilliant.

I really need to practise tomorrow. I haven't since the last time I said I needed to practise. Oops.

OMG SO while driving with my family to day I heard both "Uprising" AND "Knights of Cydonia." SO. PUMPED. I was practically headbanging, with my mum and brother in the car. Honestly? Muse might be all I really need from pop music.

God I've been so tired today, and yet I've been typing this entry for nearly an hour. Priorities much? Gah.

Dear Dirt Devil,

You suck. Or, more accurately, you don't suck, which is precisely the problem.

----------

Dear Self,

Do not invent hypothetical situations that have a real chance of coming true. That's just asking for trouble. Like with the "broken plant pot" remark.

p.s. Don't worry, there was nothing alive in the plant pot that fell.

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Dear Flatmate,

I don't know if you've looked in the fridge or the cupboards lately, but you probably have about twice as much food as I do. Stop asking me if I have things that you can eat/cook. Also, stop asking me if we have things before you look for them yourself. I am not your keeper.