Well, I'm back.... from out of space.
I just walked in to find you here with all the posts all over the place,
I should have checked my fucking mail,
I should have left a forwarding address,
If I'd have known for just one minute there'd be one hell of a bloody mess...

Australia was awesome. As it always is.

I walk past the bus stop twice a day. Once on my way to work. Once on my way home.

I've been doing that every day for almost six months. Every day something different happens at the Bus Stop. Here in London, the bus stop is like a small cosmos all on its own. For some people, their day starts by sitting at a bus stop or a train station waiting for their day to start. The huge monstrous red buses shudder to a halt and then groan into movement once again. The self-loading cargo now standing inside, holding onto the stabilising poles, surfing the movements of the huge bus. Double decker buses so big you think they'd be too heavy for the roads.

They are, in fact, too heavy for the roads. Some bus stops have two ruts on the roads in front of them. Two great tracks where the big red buses are constantly driving. They're slowly wearing their way through the tarmac and into the dirt. The way the buses lurch and sway as they drive out of the ruts looks alarming until you realise that these are London buses designed to withstand all types of collisions and abuse. They simply rock back and forth, and then carry on as normal. The people inside move with the bus and stay on their feet.

On my way home from work the other night, I watched a handful of kids marking the bus stop with their name. With silver spray paint, they redecorated the plain bus stop in the theme of a war zone. The street light above them flickered. It looked like a scene from a movie.

The day after that the glass had been shattered, leaving small diamonds of broken glass all over the pavement. Nobody bothered to sweep it up. It just got kicked out of the way, under the bench or onto the road. Three days later, the glass had been replaced. There was already a small scratch where somebody had left their mark. Sitting there waiting for their transport, they'd probably grabbed their keys and scratched across the perfect surface.

This morning, there was a pool of dried blood under the bus stop bench. On the bench, the suited business people sat there looking bored. I walked past, trying not to think of the history behind the puddle of red. It was clear that nobody else really cared about it. The blood and broken glass was under the bench, out of sight, out of mind.

Next week, I'm buying a car. I'm going to be adding to the terrible traffic congestion on London roads. After next week, I won’t see that bus stop very often. I can’t really say I'll be disappointed, either.

I think that banks suck, despite them giving us the opportunity to have a "Bank Holiday, Long Weekend." It's is very difficult to get moving on a Saturday morning. Very difficult, indeed, when your nice warm cozy bed is filled with lovable Beloved. Looking all cuddly and sleepy. As a result, we got to the bank exactly 2 minutes before closing.
Teller: "You filthy rotten bastards."

We attended a folky-fishing festival full of the who's who of British Fishing. I didn't spot anybody I recognised.
Rex Hunt failed to attend. Bastard.
There was lots of everything else to be seen though. Many tents full of many fishy-smelling individuals selling their wares. Beloved dragged me around all of the tents to inspect all of the fishing tackle. I kept reassuring him that his tackle was just fine thankyouverymuch but he didn't get the joke. We left about 8 hours later, with three brand new reels and 2 keep-nets. I have a sneaking suspicion I may be given fishing lessons next weekend.

At the Carn-i-VAL for the Monday Holiday! Lots of big healthy women, shaking their big healthy bodies to reggae and throbbing bass. I donned a pair of rabbit ears and gave it a bit of a shake, but Beloved refused to shake his booty. He has a well established dance-phobia that I'm just going to have to do something about. Not even helium filled "Ernie" balloon would boost his confidence. I would have a more specific review of the biggest festival held in London, but put quite simply - there were too many people.

It seems now, however, that the weekend is over.
I'm back at work, staring at the same old monitor answering the same old phone calls.

"Computer2000, thisisJacquispeaking. Howmayihelpyou?"

It is officially the hottest stinkin' day in London's recorded history. Do you know how long that is? Considering William the Something conquored this place in 1066, that's a LONG FRIGGIN TIME.

I wouldn't mind if London had a beach. Or a pool. Hell, I'd settle for a sprinkler on the lawn, so I could run through wearing nothing but my underware it in my office lunch break... I'd fit right in with all the scabby faced teenage boys who are running past my window, showing off their pearly white chests.

But, of course, there is no beach. No pool. And there's no bloody sprinkler. I'm stuck inside this office shaped oven, typing on a melting keyboard while I try not to electrocute myself with the puddle of sweat that's gathering at my feet.

I'm a Queenslander. I'm expected to take the heat, and crack a beer, and BBQ prawns, and scoff at the heat-hating southerners. But somewhere, somebody isn't playing fair.

There's no breeze.

None at all. The air is motionless and scorching. But what's even more painful than the blistering sunshine, is the fact that I'm stuck here, watching other people enjoy the heat from my desk.

Arse.

I cant wait til I can go home, and run through the sprinklers.

OK!

That was a big 'ok'... Just spoke to mum from work!!! We were going to start an email-tennis session off, but her servers broke at work so nothing was getting through. I decided 'ahh fuck it' and rang her mobile, using this Post Office phone card doo-hickey...
International call to a Mobile!???

*dies*

But I got 17 minutes for my £4, so that's not so bad. I figure, I've already paid for the call, so I may as well use it!

She talked me into pressing the big red "BUY NOW" button.

So the tickets are booked. *excited wiggle*

Not a bad start to a day that began with the "ohgodimlate" feeling as I opened an eye and peered at the clock.

*eeeek*

I woke up just as I should have been leaving the house! Was definatly heart attack time! The eyes shot open, the heart started racing... I managed to whirr around the house like a maniac, have the worlds quickest shower, point the hairdryer at my head and run out of the door clutching at vital paperwork! I didn't have breakfast, or pack lunch, or do all the girly things that girly people do, but I did manage to pull on some clothes so I was decent while running down the street.

But the most amazing thing is that I also figured that if I caught the 258 bus from the end of Shaftesbury to the front door of work (all of 200m) I can save a few minutes.

By some minor miricle, I got to work ON TIME!!!

*mad cackle*

Still not quite sure how I did that, but I'm not going to complain!

After all. I'M GOING TO AUSTRALIA!!!

Sunrise over an Australian horizon.

Reunions are Sweet. Me and my Roomie.

Cody, Banana and Spack. Does anybody have a normal name?

Me and my Mummy.

Three Stooges? Or Engineers. Tough Call.

Well, what a weekend.
A more detailed write up will be impending. Am currently dealing with chronic Jet Lag, so my brain is scattered and not capable of fluent text...

Flight was pretty good, I managed to spill a cup of OJ all over myself while
I was asleep, but other than that it was pretty nifty. Dried OJ looks a little bit like chunder, so I guess there's a neat explanation why nobody wants to sit next to me...

Leaving Brisbane was a bit of a wrench. It wasn't the big adventure that it
was last time... it was just leaving. I dont think Mum was all that
overjoyed at seeing me walk off toward immigration by myself, but I had the
time to give her plenty of hugs before I was called. After seeing the coast
again, I know I'll never be a Pom. It may sound tacky to quote the lyrics
of a song, but "I'll still call Australia home."

Have decided that I am an excellent Duty Free shopper. I walk in. I find
what I want. I buy it and walk out. The challenge then, is to find
somewhere in my hand luggage to store it. An Engineering logistics
challenge from hell. Mathematically, I cannot increase the physical space
inside my bag, nor can I magically shrink the shitload of stuff that I had
to put in it, Harry Potter style.

Somehow, via the cubed root of 96 and a lot of colourful language, I managed
to squish everything inside my handluggage. It now weighs more than I do,
but that is neither here nor there. Damn near killed me when I pulled it
out of the overhead lockers... Will have a nice bag-shaped bruise on my
shoulder for a few weeks yet.

Missing everybody already. Dont want to go back!!!

In the words of somebody more eloquent: "I'm here for a good time, not a long time."

Til next time.
Jac xx

As a member of a dysfunctional family, I've never really had a chance to stand in a room full of people who I can truthfully call family. I have many close friends, and a few pseudo-family members whom I seem to have claimed over the years but none of them actually share my DNA. This last trip to Wales kinda proved to me what real family was all about.

To me:
Its about three generations laughing at each other, after giving warm hugs.
Its about 40 people meeting up, eating, drinking and laughing together.
Its about meeting people and knowing where they fit into your family history.
Its about listening to 80 y/o's swear and laugh, and knowing that you'll grow old disgracefully as well.
Its about hearing tales of the 'good old days' and laughing with my generation about the internet and 'technophobia'.
Its about people who accept you, without exception.
Its about pulling faces at a younger cousin, and seeing them smile.
Its about that smuggling that second mince pie, only to have it stolen from you with a wink and a smile.

I spent most of today walking around the old town of Cheter. It was first built up by the Romans. It marks the very boundaries of the Roman Empire at its greatist. They built this place as a big fortress, as they were constantly being pressed back by the fierce and cunning Welsh Tribes. My mum's cousin John, is more than happy to remind everyone that the Welsh remain one of the only undefeated populations against one of the strongest civilisations in the history of the world.

*sniff* The aussies have never been invaded, either. (That is, if you ignore the fact that Europeans invaded around 1788... but I digress).

I spotted this funky little bridge when I was trekking up and down the roads trying to locate an Employment Agency. Its called the Bridge of Sighs, of which I think is self explanitory. The damn thing must be about a foot wide, if that - without any form of hand rails - over a drop of about 10 metres!!!

I dont know what the bridge was used for, as mum didn't let me stand still long enough to read the informative plarque that was right next to my head when I took this photo.

Have finally landed in Wales. To be specific, I'm in Wrexham which is North Wales, and right on the border to England.

I made the stupid mistake of saying "England" on thursday night at the pub... yep... good way to piss off the Welsh. I suspect its like the Kiwi's being mistaken as Aussies... I've learnt from that fuckup so next time, I'll say Britain!!!

Today, Mum, Aunty Cynth and myself are headed to an Antique fair in town. Luckily for me, there's a swimming pool right close by, so if I get the shits (likely) then I can go for a dip and get away from all the tarnish and peeling varnish.

Still no word on the job front. I have 4 or 5 people looking out for me, so its all going ok.

Have to go...

Jac

In london at the moment.
Absolutly shagged... spent the day wandering around Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London. Saw lots of tombs, memorials, plaques, stone walls and a few million other tourists.

If I wasn't one, I'd declare that ALL TOURISTS ARE FUCKWITS.... They're like headless sheep that moon about like morons for a few hours, before taking the slightest bit of notice about the environment around them...

Oh, and somebody please explain to me the sence behind building a sundial in England? There is no damn sun!

Anyhow, my free internet time is about to expire so I think Dan, Sommer and myself are about to head elsewhere... I cant figure out where to put in more money!!

Oh. Bought a pirated version of TTT from some shady dealer near Trafalgar Square... remains to be seen whether or not it works.

Quotable Quote:
Jacqui, standing underneath Big Ben:
'So, what -is- the time, anyway?'

*ugh* Need news!
Canadians dont know how to spell cricket, let alone how to play... Couldn't believe it when I walked into the downstairs bar (at the hotel) they're playing 5 sports channels full-time and not one of them knew ANYTHING about the game. Have the Pom's been demoralised again? What about Warnie? Any word on his shoulder?? NEED INFO PEOPLE!

The total lack of information is a poor advertisement for the Canadian nation, really. They should instate compulsory cricket lessons in all schools. "Howzat!?" should be a household word. Really.

I'm trying to get some information about ice hockey so I can go and watch the blood thirsty sport, but I've yet to get any idea of whats going on. I did hear that the final cut has been made for the Canadian Junior team, set to play the Junior World Titles later this month. Like that means anything to me...
Ice Hockey is just like grass hockey on steroids, right? Matty?? *meep*

I haven't seen much of the city, as I've spent most of today recovering from the flight from Auckland. I crossed the equator and the date line all in one flight, so I arrived in Honolulu before I took off, and have been confused ever since.

Hawaii is all crazy, with all the added securities they've put in place. To catch our connecting flight to Canada, we had to go through customs, collect our luggage, walk OUT of the airport and back in again.

I spent the whole time with a "what the hell?" expression on my face.... Mum got pulled up for a random shoe-check. I bet the poor security guard got the shock of his life. After walking around Auckland for a few hours, sitting in a dodgy bus to the airport, then another 10 or so hours in transit, mum's feet smelled priceless....

Its -bloody- cold here. I accidently walked too close to the automagical doors in the lobby when I was coming here, and got a nice chilling blast of downtown Vancouver coldness. I've been told that we might hit 8 degrees tomorrow, if we're lucky and the storm blows over.

*jaw drops*

I have no words.

Got my results from Uni.
A for the thesis, and 2 A's and a C for my coursework. Stoked about the thesis and I want to know what that bumps my GPA up to.

Dont know what else to say, really, as my past few days have been all about airports, which you know all about. Had enough of -them- already.

Hope you're all doing well.
Happy Holidays!

Jac.

Fuck a duck.

I just wrote a huge entry about Rotorua, Te Kuiti and Taupo and the fucker lost it on me. Not Happy, Jan.

But, in point form:

Rotorua was awesome, but our accomodation (Cactus Jack's) was all fucked up. Too noisy and hectic, and I had to put up with sleep-deprived Cyclone Joan which was more than I could bare.

From Rotorua we travelled to Te Kuiti, which is a small town about 15 minutes drive south of the Waitomo Caves. Backpackers accomodation there was superb. Don, the manager, recognised my face from 12mths ago, so it was nice to catch up on the comings and goings since then. Also played with their computer, and uploaded about 20 different musical albums.

Went repelling, blackwater rafting and rockclimbing at Waitomo. Fucking awesome. Have a few photo's on a disposable camera, so I guess I'm going to have to find a scanner at some stage, and scan them in.

After Te Kuiti and Waitomo, we moved onto Turangi, and the Bellbird Lodge. Really nice rooms, although Cyclone had a whinge about the uncomfortable beds. Phhhht. I slept well.

Also stayed up to 1am talking to Josie, the Manager, about various things we were both interested in. It was really great to talk to her, and it made me realise a few things about myself, too. But, enough of the self-discovery bullshit.

I want to go bungy jumping tomorrow. Yay for jumping off high structures~!

Anyhow, while this post is nothing like the truely incredible post that the fucking computer ate, it gives a fairly good idea of what I've been getting up to with my time.

Hope y'all doing well.
Drop me a comment or two, just so I know who's watching!
Jac.

Rotorua is wet. I've been here twice now, and both times the place has been a soggy mass of rotton-egg smelling land.
Had an eventful shower this morning. I stood there for ten minutes looking at the freezing cold stream before giving up and taking a bath.
A bath constituted about 10cm's of water in the bottom of a giant shower/bathtub with me sitting in it splashing myself much like an elephant. I kept telling myself that it was just like they would have bathed back in the 1400's so I should just shut up and be happy.

Who's bright idea was it to stay at a backpackers?

But... damn. I'm not impressed with Rotorua this time round. Perhaps I need to see an exploding hole in the ground before I finalise my opinion.

Jac.

Didn't enter anything last night, so you've all missed out on hearing about the America's Cup and how I stood in the rain for a full 10 minutes like the drought girl I am.
"The sky is falling! The sky is falling! Oh... hangon... I remember rain..."

I'm not going to tell you anything about the way that Cyclone and myself had to dash through puddles the size of sydney harbour to try and find a safe haven from the downpour that caught us completely off guard. If you think I'm going to go into details about the awesome Italian meal I had for dinner then you're going to be totally disapointed. Ha. Ha.

However, I can tell you with some degree of certainty that Friday nights are alot of fun when staying in a city central backpackers. Even if you just want to read a book and 'chill out' (like the wall says to do) you'll wind up getting married, divorced, and convinced to move back to Australia with every different nationality imaginable. Exept Scottland. Damned if I could understand a thing she said.

Also met a bloke from Mooloolabah. His sister works in a salon that I went to a few years ago. Small bloody world, I tell you. Oh, and just for the record... beer: It comes in pints.

Left the sunshine coast fairly easily, despite having been woken up at stupid o’clock in the morning and then having to lug over 100kg’s of baggage around with me. (Red suitcase = 32.0kgs. Blue suitcase=29.3kgs. Backpack = 19kgs. Schoolbag Hand luggage = 24kgs. Not including any of Cyclone Joan’s stuff.)

This image is the last thing I saw of the Boathouse, through the back of Uncle Dave’s car. While it was nice in the air-conditioning, the Road-Trip gang will appreciate how hard it was to leave such bliss on such a damn hot morning. I even said goodbye to the bucket’o’bait that’s still in the garage.

Its surprising where one contemplates life. For me, this morning, it was with my pants around my ankles, staring at a welcome notice written in 19 different languages. One of the busiest places of an international airport - the loo’s. For the first time, I found a private corner (shared with 35 other people in their own private cubicles) to think about what was going on. This little squashed frog had taken all of her personal hang-ups, fuck-ups, phobias and habbits and moved them all to a different country. All of the insane messing around I had been doing for the past three days had finally paid off. Do you want to know how many phone-fights I had with Telstra, Vodafone, Energex and Commbank? No? Good, because I don’t want to tell you about it. Its over. I’m done. Get stuffed. Go jam it. Fuck off.

I’m free.

With a bit of a nutty grin, I pulled up my dacks, flushed the toilet and began a new chapter in my little Book of Life.

The drunken Samoan dude provided some in-flight entertainment and the poor little bus driver almost had a seizure when he saw how much crap we were dragging onto his bus. As you can see, I had quite a bit.

So, for all those who give a damn, we’ve both landed in Auckland safe and sound. We’re now checked into the backpackers accommodation which is right near the centre of town. Almost opposite Evil Santa, that beckons to little children with a crook of his wicked finger and a lilt of his scabby eye. Pure Evil, I tell you.

Now, it is my solomn duty to copy this file onto a floppy disk, take it downstairs and upload it while Cyclone is sleeping. Its been a big day, and she never got to sleep on the drive to Brisbane!

Anyhow, this is me waving at my reflection in the window at the Backpackers hostel. Yes, I know I'm a dork. But hey - I'm a dork in New Zealand, baby.

Goodbye. Its been great knowing ya. This photo was taken on my front porch. Its the Maroochy River, right on sunset.

Tonight was one of those sunsets where everything is peaceful. The world just drifted into darkness with a sigh, letting the stars start their sparkle routine for the night. I think I payed more attention, simply because I'm not going to experience this type of twilight again for a little while.

England doesn't have the stinking heat, the fucked up humidity or the lazy beach life that I've grown up with. It's impossible to go for a midnight jog along the beach in the middle of a Yorkshire winter. Impossible and crazy.

I just hope I haven't set unrealistic expectations for the UK.
*cue insane terror* The 'What If' monster has just landed and the panic has set in. I'm crazy to be leaving here, yet I think it'd be impossible for me to stay. I'd be forever wondering how my life would be different if I'd have had the courage to do something different. Well... I dont know if I have the courage, but I'm bloody well doing it anyway.

On another note, my Livejournal account has now expired so I'm back to using the freeloaders version. Not that I care all that much. I'm going to be AWOL for the next few months so my spammage factor is going to lessen significantly.

Mother needs Prozac. She had a fit, right in the middle of the kitchen. I will accept donations, and acts of charity. Remarkably, nothing was broken and all casualties were cleaned up swiftly. Phone banking should come with a health warning. The Commonwealth Bank should update its weather warning for tomorrow...
"Cyclone Joan, upgraded to a category 5. Inbound."

Ha Ha. Sucks to be you.

There were flying Welsh socialist monkeys flipping coins in the shadows of an unknown flying airship.

In short, the day was great.

With length, the day was really great. I woke up with that familiar thought "I wonder if I'd get in too much trouble if I slept through it?" only to realise I wasn't going to Uni, but heading towards Brisbane to meet up with a group of other people I had never met before in my life. (Not including a brief encounter with Kaldeko on my highschool bus, apparently!) My nerves and excitement got the better of me, and I got out of bed.

Two hours later, the Mothership and I navigate the streets of Brisbane (by me totally disregarding any of her directions and getting to intended destination alot sooner), finding a carpark and racing towards organised meeting place. Stupidly enough, I hadn't really stopped to think about said meeting place til I was halfway to Brissy, but, luckily enough I remembered some shit about a fountain and the casino. Oh, and I brought the Farseekers book with me, just to identify myself as a complete geek!

I spotted Nicola and Kaldeko, or rather, they spotted me looking bewildered and from that moment the chatter started. It was a who's who of online screennames and real life nicknames. Kaldeko (Sarah), Nicola (Nicola), Sas (Sarah), Astra (Lauren), Melanie (Mellanina) and I spent 15 minutes swapping customary titles before embarking on a quest for sushi (Sue-see anybody?) and coffee.

The day past rather quickly, as the next time I looked at my watch it was 1.30pm after wandering out of the Brisbane Writers Festival blinking in irritation as I had yet again forgotten to take my damn sunglasses out of my bag. The panel we went to was really fantastic, and I was very happy that they dragged me along to it. I cant remember all four of their names but I know that they all spoke extremely well, especially the first chicky who spoke about the mysteries of history and things going bump in the night. After we got out of the Brisbane Museum, it became necessary to take some strange photos, which required me to become very humble and damn near kiss the ground.

No, this is not an exercise in religious humility... I'm trying to take a damn photo.

Sas then had the bright idea of actually ASKING somebody to take it for us, which saved me getting gravelrash on my face again. Yay for Sas the humanitarian! She even gives balloons to small children!!! Unfortunately, we had to say goodbye to Nicola who was abducted by Slavers and taken to her workplace to sell fattening carrot cake to dieting extremists (who should have been eating Mud Cake anyway).

To Southbank then, for a brief wander around the markets and a seat right near the crystal waters of the Brisbane River. *scoff* With icecream and drinks (some of us, anyway) we then sat down and continued our discussion from the morning coffee session. It seemed like we had known each other for ages, as the chatter didn't have any of those uncomfortable lulls that usually happen. Instead, we laughed and joked like old friends. (Which, I guess in a sense, we were!) My summary of said conversation is as follows:

Lauren is magnetic, but only in one direction. She really knows how to attract those serviettes! Sarah (Kaldeko) is quite talented at scaring the living shit out of poor possums and Bat-people, while Mel is somewhat of a caffeine junkie who shares my hatred of early morning classes. Its such a pity she's studying Maths!! :-P Meanwhile, Sas had everything under control, just dont phone her up for sex!!!

All in all, it was a damn good day!
Glad I woke up for it!

Jac.

It's friday. I'm heading out to the movies with the mothership, off to see "Bend it Like Beckham". She has a small idea of what soccer (sorry! football) actually is, so perhaps she can impart some of this wisdom to me, so that I dont look like the worlds greatest wanker when I get to the UK.

Anyhow, best dash.
I'll leave you with one of my favorite modern poems, written about the stirring of the blood when the mighty Green and Gold prevail.

Green and Gold Malaria
© Rupert McCall

December 5th,
New Zealand Airways.
Departing Brisbane 1.30pm
Arriving Auckland 7.30pm.

That is when I shall be leaving the country.

I'm terrified.
I'm contemplating doing a paper journal for the time being, that I can write in while I'm stuck on a plane for hours at a time... the only problem being, that I can type faster than I can write (faster than I can think, at times) so it may be painfully abrupt...

oh well.

got 6 mths to think about that.
jac.

Get Lost

I dont see the big deal in getting lost.

For me, at least, getting lost in an unfamiliar place is a learning experience. I learn more when I'm lost than when I'm unlost. This statement is true for both physical lost, and mentally lost. I love getting physically lost in the city, wandering around waiting until you see a landmark that looks vaguely familiar.

Take a turn around Marketting strategies, and hang a right at the intersection of telecommunications theory and bandwidth supply.

Holy Web Development Batman.

This website keeps getting bigger. I keep getting drawn further and further into it, neglecting my project, neglecting my appetite, and straining the good relationship with all my friends.

"Jac, wanna come over for dinner"
"Mmm... cant... programming."

Even though I'm sleeping really odd hours, not eating properly, forgetting to check the mail and becoming an antisocial geekazoid, I'm loving the lost feeling. Free falling into a learning pattern. I've learnt more about web publishing in the past 3 months than I have the entire time I've been hacking at Carmody Online.

Whoa baby. What a rush.

The Beast
I've now recovered from my Quiz-making Procrastination, and have moved onto writing expressive entries into my weblog... you lucky people you!

I began rereading the entries at the Ringbearer New Zealand Diary, the other day, and its brought the whole experience back into sharp focus. I've begun to remember some of the tiny details of our journey, and just start randomly laughing...

Today, while listening to a Beatles CD, I heard "Yesterday" and started thinking of all the crazy songs we used to sing in Bill, while hurtling across the NZ countryside. Paul McCartney (legend) crooning the tunes, while four enthusiastic tourists tried to supply vocal assistance to the dodgy recording.

I kept listening to the CD, and almost fell out of my chair when I heard "Yellow Submarine"... I think it was one of the only things that got me across that godforsaken mountain. Marching along, singing along with Damien...
"In the land, where I was born, lived a man, who sailed the seas..."
SAILED THE SEAS!
I think we must have sung this song, (with lyrical substitution) for over an hour... stomping through puddles, and wading through the mud. I'm still yet to discover what Damien wanted with an Unholy army of Cats, and I guess I'll never know now.

And then, only yesterday, I was driving through the countryside, when I found one of the tapes that we used to play in the car. It brought back so many tiny fragments of memories that if I closed my eyes, it would feel like I'd be back there. Of course, I didn't close my eyes, as I was driving... but I still felt the wave of nostalgia sweep over me.

I guess I really miss our time that we spent together, and cant wait til I can travel again. In fact, I'm seriously considering running away to the UK right now, and blowing off this stupid Graphics Prac that I'm trying to finish. I know I'll never do it, as it would also mean that I wouldn't be able to finish my awesome thesis topic, nor graduate at the end of the year... however, the thought itself is very entertaining.

These holidays have been absolutely useless as far as work goes. I got none of my project research done, none of my Prolog Assignment done, and none of my Advanced Digital Com's assignment done. BASTARD.

In fact, the only thing I did manage to do, was acquire more work to do. I now have 2 extra web sites to maintain, and a broken computer that I need to fix, and recover from the overwhelming desire to kick the bloody thing across the room.

In any case... I think I'll go back, and try to persuade my program to work. Its due Friday, and I've only got about 2/9ths of it done. Not fun.

*puts on her clairvoyant hat*
I predict lots of late nights, and a strong caffeine dependance