and when I said sweet I meant dirty

It should be a crime for someone to have as many uni assignments and responsibilities as I’ve got at the moment. It’s a bit of a shaft-riding. I also have to go pay some guy to jam pointy metal objects around in my mouth again on Tuesday, which is something I can always look forward to paying exorbitant piles of cash for. So this week’s full of trauma and deadlines, but as usual, I’m sure I’ll find some way to plonk along through it and escape in a reasonably small number of pieces.

I’m a bit worn out this evening, waking at seven a.m. on a Sunday is not one of my personal fortes, but it’s Fathers Day. So after making breakfast with a couple of other people I couldn’t quite make out that early in the morning, but I assume were my brother and sister, I realised that Fruit Loops actually taste pretty crap and are like tainted sugar more than anything worth eating. My tongue must be getting real old. Spent the day hanging around with the family, went bowling in the afternoon and managed to scam a 149 game somehow, after not having gone bowling in roughly two thirds of goddamn ages, probably closer to a year and a half. So it’s been a pretty tiring day, combined with having not gotten a lot of sleep.

I can pretty much contribute the lack of shut-eye to two things, one was going out last night to see 28 Days Later… with Glen, Katy, Nathan and Das, which I quite enjoyed. I read up on how they did some of the shots later and was pretty impressed. But the major factor in my not sleeping is probably my dog being a total wuss. About four a.m. I heard this rumbling noise wake me up, which sounded a lot like the noise the dog makes banging against the back door when he wants to be let out to go do his doggy-business. After intense internal argument on whether it would be more painful to get out of bed in the cold and let him out, or deal with the room being littered with doggy-produce, I heard the noise again and rolled out of bed. I opened the door to my room up and looked into the back room where the dog sleeps, and he wasn’t at the door, he was sitting in his beanbag like he usually is. So I figure I’m hearing things, curse my brain and get back into bed. I hear the noise again and eventually puzzle out that it’s thunder (yes, I’m quite quick on the uptake aren’t I?) and close my eyes thinking about all the lovely zombie-like goodness I’ve seen that night. At which stage my bed starts to move around like someone’s climbing onto it. Zombies in brain, something on bed, zombies in brain, something on bed… so I hesitantly open my eyes to see… my pansy-ass dog having climbed up on the bed between me and the wall, cowering and shivering from the thunder. You little wuss. So because I’m a big softy and it’d be more work getting him off, he camped out on the empty half of my double bed. So now I’ve slept with a dog.

Stay tuned for more details as they come to hand.

4 thoughts on “and when I said sweet I meant dirty

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