I could write a book about the way you walk and whisper and look

For reasons unknown my hair decided to look good when nobody could appreciate it. It decided to look good for a day freezing my ass off at the football but I can you lose interest already so I won't talk about it. Even though it was a hilarious game with blood, own goals and the old man who sits behind me calling the referee a 'paedophile cunt' with such malice that we could not stop laughing. I can't even remember why he was so angry, it was probably something like the referee missed a foul or something. That man is gonna collapse one day and I, for one will not help him.

My hair was still good this morning for the exciting task of mopping. Awesome. I did things like find stains under paperwork and wonder if maybe the skank had to keep taking those pregnancy tests because she left her contraceptive pills on her desk. I kept my spirits up with loud music paired with atrocious dancing and the knowledge that there was a tenner burning a hole in a pocket and if I was lucky I might find something pretty.

Four hours later and my hair was bad, I stank of rubber and bleach and I've accumulated several more cuts and bruises. Every week I do this is another week I never want to be a housewife. My lovely friend was talking about how she wants a wedding on a beach somewhere warm and I don't doubt that she will one day. She's gonna marry a nice doctor, have a big house, coupla kids and a dog; it's something I've always known. I don't think I've ever entertained thoughts of marriage, apart from the time I tried on my mother's wedding dress and freaked my dad out (it was her idea). Reasons why Catherine is not a girl number two: Has no wedding plans whatsoever. It's my worst nightmare, being someone's wife. That and being attacked by giant spiders.

So four hours later I dragged my weary ass through the last remaining sales racks and picked up anything that caught my eye. I found the most hilariously hideous dress I've ever worn. I mean, I always wondered why Topshop hired Kate Moss. I don't hate that crazy girl but damn was she ever coked out of her mind when she created that dress. I could not stop laughing in the changing room and it was that bad laugh that nobody else should ever hear. Oh it was good times. Topshop made up for themselves by having Moomin pants. Pants with the Moomins on them. I did not buy them because I'd already spent all my money by the time I saw them on the way out but by god, one day they will be mine.


Oh, also: totally do have a 3 day weekend! It's the rubbish one sure and I'll probably try and get my tutorials on Mondays but for a week or so at least I get a day off. First time that's ever happened. I might get my big bag o' charity shop tees and tops stolen from ex boyfriends and see what I can sew. Either that or write some more, but I think I'm lacking cohesion. And my main character just topped herself and I don't think she was meant to. One minute she was annoyed at the neighbours, the next she swallowed every pill she could find. I was left there pen in my mouth like "Oh, ok then." I might have a go at arranging everything I've got so far into English and ooh I can listen to Ella Fitzgerald since I finally got round to actually buying some of her stuff instead of relying on the Starbucks on Byres Road that plays Jazz. Brilliant I got a day plan, I can go play Tomb Raider now.