Not that I like to share my personal biorythyms with the rest of the world, but, to put it bluntly, the painters are in. Aunt Rosie is visiting. It's that time of the month. And I bloody well hate it.
I did not sleep one wink last night, because I had abdominal cramps that felt like labout pains all night long. And the contractions continue today. If labout is seven times worse than 'that time of the month' then I'm adopting. Simple as that.
So been feeling rather uncomfortable today. Note even my new working wardrobe that I splurged on over the weekend is helping. I maxed out my credit card on 'associate editor' looking suits and stuff. Very corporate. Very rah rah. During my reporter days I would fall out of bed in my pyjamas and literally walk into the office as is - tracksuits and other grungy-anti-estblishment-threads, but now I'm in control, with new business woman persona.
And I've discovered the joys of internet banking. A little far behind the rest of the world - five years or so - but what a difference! I just transfered cash into my other account just for fun, because it's so easy.
I went to a goth party on Friday for my friend Claire's return from Spain. Lucky little bugger's been studying Spanish there for the last six months. Anyhoo, it got completely out of hand, when we al found ourselves, at 2:00 am, alseep on the snooker table. All six of us. Stu had a cue between his legs and his pants were down. Dodgy dodgy dodgy. Emily's wig was askew across her face, my belt and other jewellery was scattered across the floor, and Steve had electricuted himself so much on the Bamboozled game, that he couldn't feel his arm. Charming, you'd think at 24, 25 we'd have grown up. But we still act like 16-year olds at frat parties. Young at heart, I say. Hear hear.
Right. Now. Time to write the news.