And last night I acted like one. I'm skint and I have deadlines coming up so I went out to catch up with my mates and drank a lot of strawberry cider and, wait for it, snakebite & black (pint size, come on, really). And on the way home I got chips to soak up the drinks, which subsequently turned into a chip butty when I got home and found bread, and lead to my sister stating "you're druunk" because I have to be pissed to appreciate such things. She was right, I was; I even let Oliver get away with a chip that fell on the floor because the thought of bending down to pick it up seemed like too much effort, and I was too away with the fairies to care about it. When babydog woke me up this morning I had that fuzzy head feeling and the shakes because clearly I haven't arrived at the hangover stage yet, the alcohol's still being processed. So I'm gonna do some work, look extremely tired, resembling a mental patient on the run, and hit the library later on.
God I sound classy. Better make the most of the last few months in hell, right?! 
Love,
Mon xx
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05/03/08 @ 10:13