Watch me starve!
I can't say I didn't know it was coming. The wedding, the birthday, the binge-drinking, on my salary? Financial incontinence of the highest order.
Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce an all-time record - my whole tiny paypacket blown in just 11 days. Actually, it's worse than that, I'm eighty unauthorised pounds over my overdraft limit (plus fine).
The next 20 days are going to be rather interesting. The only way to deal with it, I think, is to view it as a fun, exciting, life-affirming challenge. Fun! Exciting! Fuck.
It's not as bad as it could be - my bills are paid and my travelcard is bought. My kidneys are on the blink anyway, the rest will do them good. And I'm working two of the remaining Sundays in October, which will give me something to look forward to at the weekends! Hoo. Ray.
I need to put my expenses in and get some invoicing done, the cash won't come through for ages but the idea of someone owing me money makes me smile.
Hopefully my dad will allow me to put some food shopping on his Access card (in addition to the £50 cash I had to take out last night. Should really tell him about that...)
Tragically, I've had to ask my flatmate to sort me out with some babysitting for her boss's kids. I'm 30, damn it! But they have kittens, Sky Plus and Green & Blacks. And there's always extra shifts at work...
I'm going clubbing tonight and I've already paid for the tickets, so I'm owed a few drinks. My friends from home and my sister are trying to arrange me a birthday present dinner party the weekend after next, and I do believe there could be a house party to go to the weekend after that.
I need to blag some white paint and sort out my goddamn ugly bedroom - the half caramel and half terracotta divided by a wobbly masking tape line makes me want to hunt down Laurence Llewelyn Bowen and batter him to death with a dado rail. And I should really sort out the slut's wool all over the telly and trapped in that fuck-awful faux-glass, faux-wrought iron... thing on the ceiling masquerading as a lampshade. That's going in the bin. And I should also hoover up those bits of that daddy long legs I was FORCED to slaughter with the drugs issue of the Independent. Which pissed me off for two reasons:
a) I hate killing insects and gave it numerous opportunities to escape, but I can not turn off the lights and go to sleep when it could hurtle into my mouth at any moment
b) I had to chuck the paper into the recycling unopened, transformed from a potentially interesting read to a grisly instrument of destruction whose presence in my bedroom brought on guilty pangs of remorse
Besides the redecorationg, I want to finish Great Expectations and watch series two of Spaced, then there are all those CDs I keep buying on Amazon (not my fault, it's too easy) to listen to. So hey, it's going to be AWESOME.
I thought I'd have one last hurrah last night and bought a dirty pasty from Wimbledon station. It was full of cubed swede chunks. God hates me.
Anyway, ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce an all-time record - my whole tiny paypacket blown in just 11 days. Actually, it's worse than that, I'm eighty unauthorised pounds over my overdraft limit (plus fine).
The next 20 days are going to be rather interesting. The only way to deal with it, I think, is to view it as a fun, exciting, life-affirming challenge. Fun! Exciting! Fuck.
It's not as bad as it could be - my bills are paid and my travelcard is bought. My kidneys are on the blink anyway, the rest will do them good. And I'm working two of the remaining Sundays in October, which will give me something to look forward to at the weekends! Hoo. Ray.
I need to put my expenses in and get some invoicing done, the cash won't come through for ages but the idea of someone owing me money makes me smile.
Hopefully my dad will allow me to put some food shopping on his Access card (in addition to the £50 cash I had to take out last night. Should really tell him about that...)
Tragically, I've had to ask my flatmate to sort me out with some babysitting for her boss's kids. I'm 30, damn it! But they have kittens, Sky Plus and Green & Blacks. And there's always extra shifts at work...
I'm going clubbing tonight and I've already paid for the tickets, so I'm owed a few drinks. My friends from home and my sister are trying to arrange me a birthday present dinner party the weekend after next, and I do believe there could be a house party to go to the weekend after that.
I need to blag some white paint and sort out my goddamn ugly bedroom - the half caramel and half terracotta divided by a wobbly masking tape line makes me want to hunt down Laurence Llewelyn Bowen and batter him to death with a dado rail. And I should really sort out the slut's wool all over the telly and trapped in that fuck-awful faux-glass, faux-wrought iron... thing on the ceiling masquerading as a lampshade. That's going in the bin. And I should also hoover up those bits of that daddy long legs I was FORCED to slaughter with the drugs issue of the Independent. Which pissed me off for two reasons:
a) I hate killing insects and gave it numerous opportunities to escape, but I can not turn off the lights and go to sleep when it could hurtle into my mouth at any moment
b) I had to chuck the paper into the recycling unopened, transformed from a potentially interesting read to a grisly instrument of destruction whose presence in my bedroom brought on guilty pangs of remorse
Besides the redecorationg, I want to finish Great Expectations and watch series two of Spaced, then there are all those CDs I keep buying on Amazon (not my fault, it's too easy) to listen to. So hey, it's going to be AWESOME.
I thought I'd have one last hurrah last night and bought a dirty pasty from Wimbledon station. It was full of cubed swede chunks. God hates me.
posted by Elizabeth at 12:30 PM
4 Comments:
That's a bit weird - I just finished actually looking up stuff about daddy Long Legs because they annoy me SO much and here's you killing them. Congratualtions. If you were another spider (they are spiders themselves allegedly) then he possible would have attempted to use his highly poisonous fangs to slaughter you as you passed by, but luckily for you their fangs are so rubbish they can't bite humans.
Money bites. Realistically I have £14 and no travelcard to make it til the 25th, but unfortunately I have access to money i owe, but might actually have to pay back before payday, so trouble brews.
Good luck anyway.
You can always come over to ours for dinner and I'll even chuck in a free lift home! Let me know when is good my dear xx
the idea of someone owing me money makes me smile.
You are evil. I like you.
i've only managed to get to chapter 14 of great expectations and finding it like a march through mud.
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