There is so much I could write about in the last week;
1. I finished the uni semester! Probably failed the law unit but I did at least finish it!
2. Also managed to smash 'Leading Sustainable Change' essay out in 3 days!
3. Went out on Friday night with my uni buddies! Tried Nepalese food for the first time & actually liked it! Drank too much red wine for my little body to handle! Stopped at LJ's house on the way home & met her beautiful dog at midnight! So much fun!
4. Car totally fucked up on me on Wednesday morning! Was ten mins away from home, away getting coffee in order to power through essays till midnight for the 5th night in a row or some dreadful shit like that, car wouldn't start on way home. Called Dad = end result being no help. So, RACV came within half an hour & tow truck another TWO. HOURS. LATE. I wasn't too concerned about the car really, I was just FREEZING my ass off sitting in my car when it was like 5 degrees outside with no layers & no heater, and I wanted to do study before work & hence sitting in the car listening to the radio for 3 hours was totally unproductive. Fuck. Turns out the 'fuel injection' or 'fuel pump' or something was fucked. To be quite honest because I don't drive my car further than 15km one way, and it sometimes sits in the street for a few days, and this routine has continued for many years...well we've been waiting for something like this to happen. And now the thing (i.e, the car) has to go back to Dad's work, because the thing that shows you how much petrol in your tank is stuffed. I'm actually quite proud of myself for even noticing it was stuffed. God I am totally just NOT mechanical. According to a guy from work if my Dad is a mechanic I should know this stuff; god forbid I should even be interested in it, but NO.
5. Having a mechanic for a father & a screwed up fuel pump meant I had to accompany him to work on Thursday morning (6:30am, mind) to collect said baby car. The idea being that I would then drive car home where it belongs. In short, I should never 'wing' directions home from unidentified Greek suburb I'm not familiar with. Had to call father & complain that the GPS had been 'waiting for signal' for 20 minutes & I was somewhere near Dad's other factor for work & therefore wasn't far away. I think I drove around in circles a bit, I was vaguely where I used to go for driving lessons about 2 years ago, I knew I'd gone the wrong way but thought I could sort of work out where I was & vaguely recognize my way home. EPIC. FAIL. Dad eventually came in the ute & pointed me in the direction of Warrigal Rd. I may or may not have been on the mobile whilst driving in peak hour traffic (hush hush!). Took wrong turn, but did manage to use enough initiative to go around the block. I've learned my lesson, moving on now.
6. Lately, I've been reading 'Scar Tissue' by Anthony Keidis, the guy from the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. I'm roughly halfway through. He'd be an extremely good looking fella if he a) cut his hair and b) had less bloodshot eyes from drug use. I wasn't familiar with the extent of his/other band member's drug use until reading this book. I'm now wondering why, despite being an anti-drug, anti-rebel child, I get drawn to these autobiographical novels that are all about either depression, drug use or eating disorders? Why do I enjoy reading such miserable shit? Seriously? AAARRRRGHHHHh
7. Plans for holidays:
- Clean up the floordrobe
- Clean up the desk
- Do volunteering again
- Go to the gym x 3 a week, build up strength etc
- Read the 20 books I've been hoarding in my bedside table cabinet/shelf for the past year.
- Watch all the dvds I've also been hoarding for the past 6-odd months.
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