Making the Cut

I shouldn't have said 'just kill me' the amount of times i did today, i couldn't be apathetic about anything even if i tried, work amounted to a huge pile of shit irregardless of sun, crop jeans and croc shoes. Why am i always burdened with a copious amount of bad luck in daily-stints? I'd rather the odd shit thing happen to me as opposed to a full 'laurel and hardy' day of cock-ups and mishaps. If it really was in black and white and with no sound it probably wouldn't be as painful and i wouldn't contemplate walking into the Sheringham sea to drown myself like Virginia Woolfe.

I got home late, showered (still wanted to kill myself as i felt dead anyways) and just battled for half an hour with my excuse for a hair-cut. I ended up whipping the scissors out barber-shop style and still don't feel any better than before, i just curse the genetics of my hair folicles and wish the ground would swallow me up for a couple hours and regurgitate me with stylist award 2008. I feel austere, i don't think i want to feel austere.. i also think i'm having a sympathy-vote day where everyone is supposed to feel sorry for me just because i said so.

I'm currently in mental turmoil over the use of 'an' and 'a' when it comes before words beginning with the letter 'h', i also don't want to be sick anymore/would like to be rich/ would like to move Country.

Just a miniscule wish list. Oh and I'm going to London tomorrow until Monday night, sayonara suckers.