"I'm lying in bed, the blanket is warm..."
So my day got no better. The highlight really was the fucking photocopier...
I ended up sending the message to not-ex telling her she couldn't be any ruder. She replies telling me the i "was rude first". I have no idea what she's talking about and resist the temptation to tell her to stop being childish.
I left work early to get the early bus, which of course i missed, so i waited for the next one.
I lit a smoke and checked how many i had left, i'd miscounted by one earlier so it turned out i had three left and not two ::yay me::
Of course, the "we weren't together long enough to be an"-ex got on the bus walked past and told me "you started it" before sitting further back down the bus. I try to sleep. Two bank tellers start gossiping beside and in front of me, and the bus fills to capacity.
The gossips prevent me from getting much sleep, though i sure can tell you a lot about Newtown branch office politics and who got on with who and when, and also that the Balmain branch is better because there are less customers.
By this time my discman has given up and replacing the batteries has only seemed to convince it that it's an F-15. I mean, that's all it's displaying on the LCD, what am i supposed to think? I shake my head and stuff the damn thing into my bag and sulk my way to the pub.
The barmaid takes one look at me and agrees with a grin that a Carlton is probbaly the best thing for me right now. The other two arrives and we head up the road to Cam's for the PPV. And there's no beer. I demand money from shortarms deep pockets Ross, and Hawkman and i walk back down to the pub, return with beer, pizza arrives and we watch the rest of SummerSlam.
I head back towards home with Bill & Hawkman and wet a spliff which snaps ::sigh:: i dig out another and light it. It's too green so it burns funny, but at least it does the job. I hang around for a while and we talk shit and watch the fish for a while before i walk home.
England's lost the Test to the Saffers, and the old man is watching athletics. I get some cigs ::finally:: and gratefully suck one down - it's been about five hours with only one bummed 16mg B&H which tasted woody and heavy.
Then i can't get my pc to connect to the net. I check things over and fiddle around for about an hour conceding that it might be the uni modem pool ::aargh::sob::
So a day of little joy apart from the mysteriously functional photocopier and my own miscount on cigs.
I retire to my bed sulking.. If my brian tries anything tonight i'm going to stab it. As if i'm not going to notice. If i remember anything about this day, i'll know it's bullshit because i want nothing more than to forget it.
And it's only a MONDAY ::groan::