Friday, November 13, 2009


Whoever is accessing this blog from News Limited, identify yourself either in the comments or by email.

It's totally fucking out of order that when you are aware that I took my blog private to stop you from accessing it, you continue to do so. I am aware that no one connected with News Limited has a shred of human decency, but do try to summon some up and let me know who you are so that I can decide whether I need to bar access again.

Please note that I have another blog, Monkey Banana, which you are welcome to access anonymously, but I am sensitive about people who sacked me raping my archives and I won't tolerate it.


In other news, my new life sucks almost as badly as the old one, it won't surprise anyone to learn.

I'm desperate for a trip away, says M. So we decide on Byron Bay because I can't go up the coast for one reason or another. So okay, that entitles him to be a slight pain in the arse, under the International Pain in the Arse Rules. He says where do you want to stay and I say, somewhere cheap, because, as you know, I don't have a job and I don't have much spare money.

I'm not that keen on going away anyway, I should note. I'm doing him a favour as much as anything.

So he says, I'm not staying in a hostel. Okay, I say, find the place you do want to stay in. So he looks for an hour or so and goes to bed without saying whether he booked anything. Because I'm like that, I hang around waiting for him to say, rather than hassle him. He's liable to get stroppy when hassled, and I'm a guest, here on sufferance, which in small ways he makes very very plain.

So I ask him this morning and he says he was too tired to concentrate on finding somewhere, and even though I do not consider looking for accommodation to be the most mentally taxing task a person can undertake, I say okay, I'll find something. So I find a guesthouse reasonably near the town. It's perfect, but apparently being within 500m of the beach is not good enough.

I feel like saying "why don't you just bite my cock, you miserable cunt", but you know, house guest and all, I have to wear his shit, and I spend at least 9/10 of nearly every conversation that I have not saying what I feel like saying, so it's no big deal. When I do express myself, I find myself much more expendable than I hoped.

I am thinking that I am going to have to rent a studio flat and drink myself to death. It won't be fun but you know, my life isn't anyway, so wgaf?


Shit, I realise that sounds super critical of M. It's not meant to. I mean, he's annoying over the accommodation in Byron, but he was kind enough to let me stay in his house, and he's used to having his own space all to himself. He sorted out his junkroom for me and it's not like he's wandering around in a huff because of whatever. He's a good guy. That's why we're friends. I wouldn't like to leave the impression that I don't think highly of him.


At 7:39 am, Anonymous P. said...

You already sound married :D

Seriously, I have been where you are with Fi and given that your blog is somewhere you can express your private and deepest thoughts (assuming you still can given the presence of Twats Limited), your frustration is valid, permitted and needs no justification or guilty validation. It does seem a little soon, however, to begin realising the grass on the other side is shit stained. I can offer a little maglite toward the end of your tunnel though and tell you, you will adjust sharpish - assuming of course you've mentally given yourself no other choice. If home is still a choice, and a viable one, you should return.


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