I write this from a pit of self-pity (not a literal pit, but a pathetic metaphorical one) and to make things worse, my 'e' key is broken and I have eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwdddddd (that was me fixing it). I still don't know what was behind it.
Anyway, went out on Saturday and got moderately drunk (that's right, moderatly) and on the third day, I am still a snivelling throaty wreck. Twenty three, I am. Acting young, I ain't.
Surely this is the behaviour of a much older person. I couldn't be a student any more. A diet of 9p noodles (Morrisons), shit wine (anything under £4.50) and going out five times a week? The concept of breakfast being a pint and a packet of nuts, laundry only considered when one is down to swimwear for underwear? My idea of a nightmare. Life can only get less boring, surely...
My only hope for a friend with the same interests is this alpaca. And he doesn't even like me much.
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