Meh

I have been silent for an uncharacterstically long period of time. What can I say? I got troubles. Computer troubles, life troubles, wardrobe troubles, work troubles, school troubles. Because I know you Fleetwood Mac fans are waiting for this... I think I'm in trouble. doo doo de doo doo doo doo wah wah wah wah. I also have difficulties actually typing anything without lapsing into lyrics.
Anyway, computer troubles - my trusty old pack pony computer has officially died. It no longer recognises that it has a hard drive at all, instead of just not recognising that it has an "o" key. This is a pity, because it was the computer I used to download delicious quantities of the music I was ashamed to purchase, lend or borrow from the library. Lucky I regularly leeched everything from it, but a shame nonetheless. Now I will have to rethink my music aquisition strategy.
Life troubles. Life is boring and monotonous and then you die alone. Ian Wishart exists and is published. I am in Dunedin, surrounded by people who think that they are shit hot & swan through life. You know, the individuals who can confidently expect jobs, romance and excitement because everyone thinks they are attractive. The kind of cunts who will say things like "but people think you're (funny, interesting, nice, similar mundane adjective)" when confronted with their privileged position in society. They completely sidestep the issue - ordinary people are not even entitled to have expectations, let alone have them rebuffed. There's a kind of casual cruelty in their passing mentions of successes and acclaim; here's a whole world of positive reinforcement, thrills and happiness - and you can't have it you fat ugly drab.
What pisses me off the most is when they account themselves among the rest of society - oh, but I'm so unattractive, and I had working class parents. I tell ya, I can't wait until old age ravages 'em all. Age, the great leveller. Everyone looks the same when they are old, men and women.
Work troubles. I have to get up in the morning. But really, at least they pay me, even if I am not being taught anything new and exciting & am terminally bored.
School troubles. It is there, I do the work and I don't see the point. I don't think I am stupid, but it is like I am constitutionally incapable of getting a mark that reflects my deistic nature. Of course I won't draw any conclusions from that. Still, I am hoping for a god from the machine for my typesetting assignment. Even the subject will be making you all quiver with excitement. Believe me, the page spreads are even better than you could dream of.
At this point I suppose there should be some kind of blessing counting. I've got one - that man who was wearing three stripers at the Crown last night. He was totally peachy. Danced like Salome too.