My hate/love relationship with Rascal Flatts

I have not written in my blog for awhile. I have not written in it for 18 days. Not that it matters, honestly I don't believe that anyone actually reads it. And if they did, they would have given up after the long absence of my thoughts and voice which has occurred in the last 18 long, and uninteresting days. The reason, my non-existent and imaginary Internet friends, that I have not written in my blog for over two weeks is that I am depressed. Depressed and homesick. Depressed and homesick and stressed. And it turns out that when I am feeling depressed and homesick and stressed, I cannot blog. Nor can I exercise, as I tried in vain to explain to a man who, at 27 years of age and wisdom (and with a notable lack of exposure to Ritalin), cannot sit through a movie, and who's palms get sweaty at the thought of a day without a workout. Nope, all I can do in this stupor of unreasonable unhappiness, it seems, is listen to country music. Those of you who know me (which is none of you, as nobody is reading this blog anyhow) know that if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is country music. Oysters are a close second, but that is beside the point. So there is a bit of cruel irony, I find, that in the depths of my despair, however unfounded and silly that despair may be, my greatest comfort is the twang of a banjo, and a song about country fried chicken, or something equally as vomit-inducing. Rascal Flatts and Taylor Swift are this moment's muses, and it sickens me. Perhaps this love of redneck music is merely a not-well-thought-out substitution for all the things I miss about the USofA. Maybe its my rebound sex, satisfying but not doing any good in the long run. Also I have stopped eating. I mean, not entirely stopped, but definitely cut down, for no good reason but to feel hungry. Which isn't good for my health or frame of mind, but is damn good for my WW results. My only immediate hope is that the pole dancing classes I start in June will give me an outlet, and that I can figure out what the hell is wrong with me, so I can stop crying to Faith Hill and start enjoying things again. After all, I'm in London. I'm making money, I'm making friends, going to clubs, and have knocked off a good 10lbs thanks to anor-sexy-a, so I should be set to blog.

OHMYGODILOVEYOURTA'OO!

I was thinking that I could add a couple stars to the star on my wrist, eventually. Right now, when people ask me what it means, it is kind of awkward, I usually tell them nothing, because telling someone you just met that your tattoo is a reminder of an awful time you went through and that you never want to get yourself there again, it's a bit heavier than I'm sure they were expecting. 'I dunno, I like stars?' So I thought I could get two more, one representing England, one Australia, and one the USA. My heritages, and my place of birth. My three passports. The places I belong. I don't know, we'll see, but I think its a pretty gosh dang good idea. REPRESENT

Love

Post Secret

Indecision

My very worst personality trait is my need for approval and acceptance. It makes me ridiculously indecisive when I need to make decisions that affect others. Today I was sent to buy cake for everyone. It took me a total of 30 minutes in the store and 3 phone calls to work to actually buy the stuff. On top of that, I had a mini panic attack and felt sick the entire way back. Not a good day. I just don't want to be responsible if they don't like it! Oh well, stress is over now. The worst bit was that I had to walk by Mrs Smith, the homeless lady who lives in the area, with a bag full of chocolate cake, sponge cake, brownies and shortbread biscuits. Talk about guilt!

On a much much brighter note..

I found out that my mum is going to come over for my birthday in October!! She'll be here for a week, and we will go to the destination(s) of my choice!! Now THAT is something to look forward to! I'll not have seen my mum for 9 months at that point. All I have to do is get it off work, and start to think about where I want to go!

Burnout

I have to work another 6 day week next week. This is my 6th week in a row doing that. Which means in the month and a half I've worked at Sport Dimensions, I've gotten only 6 days off. Half the days off that everyone else has gotten. I've worked more than the boss. I have an awful feeling that I will burn out next week. I hope I don't, but I do think I will.

I got annoyed with my roommate last night. He's fantastic, but he has this way of arguing that makes you feel completely ridiculous for disagreeing with him. He doesn't let you talk, and he raises his voice as if your opinions are the most stupid ones he's ever heard. I don't think he means to be like that, but I just gave up. Oh and I was hungry. I was going to reward my hard work with chinese takeout, but he made a comment that I must live on chinese takeaway. Which I don't. He's probably seen me with it once since he got back from Miami. Anyway, I couldn't very well have my nice night in with that and Grey's Anatomy now, can I? I wouldn't eat it in front of him, and I couldn't very well eat in my room, because that is rank. So I didn't eat at all. Maybe I'll treat myself next week.

As you can tell Friday the 2nd has started with me not in the best of moods... come to think of it May itself hasn't started off in the best way. I need a day off! Thank goodness there is a bank holiday this Monday- it will be my first two-day weekend in ages and ages!

Yum

I love getting cash from hot black sprinters with tattoos. Don't drink that haterade!

I'm super stressed out at work

Blah blah blah blah blah I promise I'll write a supercool one tonight... or tomorrow night... no probably tonight................................ I'm sad because Jamie Keen goes back to Scotland today =(