|My depressing life at the moment.
||[Mar. 13th, 2006|10:38 am]
Julie in Seizure
|||||The Cure-'Friday I'm In Love'||]|
I have just been to the bank and to Tesco's.
I went to the bank to plead with them to withdraw the charges they made upon me for going over my overdraft. They charged me coz they let my phonebill go out, causing me to go over my overdraft limit. This is unusual, coz all the times before when I haven't had enough in my account to pay stuff they have refused to let the payment go out of my account... I argued with the woman that had they not let the payment go out, as usual, I never would've gone over my overdraft, hence they wouldn't have charged me £30, causing me to go more over my overdraft. She wasn't having any of it, saying that "sometimes the bank will let payments go out."
"Yeah, well why the fuck did it go out this fucking time!?"
So I had to pay in all of my wages from last week, £73, to stop me from getting charged again. I now have roughly £10 in change to last me til Saturday.
It's a good fucking job Lewis' sister brought me back two 50g pouches of Cutter's Choice back from Turkey, otherwise it would have been mandatory 'giving up smoking week'...either that or smoke my own pubic hair, depends how desperate I would've got...but the smoking of pubes sounds more likely to me...
Come to think of it...I still need to pay her for them...shit...
Then I went to Tesco's to do some 'shopping'. I bought a 1kg bag of potatoes, some cheese, some shower gel and some menthol filter tips (yes, yes I know they're pussy cigarette's, but I fucking like them, so fuck you all). After a lot of comments that my old 1kg bag of potatoes looked a lot like pears I decided maybe I should get some more. I am now living on baked beans, cheese and potatoe pie, garlic pizza bread and toast. I am getting real bored with savoury food...
Other than that, things are pretty normal; I am behind with uni work, I have no motivation, I have no money, my sleeping is still fucked ( it's now 10.55am, and I'll be going to bed after writing this...if I can sleep that is...), my personal life is in tatters and I have a fucking cold.
I'm working 5 shifts at the Cookie Club this week. All 5 nights it's open. And I have to be in uni on Wednesday from 9am-4pm. With my sleeping pattern as it is, either work or uni will have to 'fucked off'...and since I need the money, it'll probably be uni...but the downside is, I'm in uni because they will be telling us about our practical exam on a mixing desk I know fuck all about...and if I fail that practical, I fail the course...
I feel like a kitten in a sack waiting to drown.
I think I look like a smackhead...I have massive bags under my eyes.
Chris went home this weekend to see his Polish 'friend'...so I thought I'd be nice and do all the washing up. And when I say all, I mean all of it. There was literally nothing left. So I did it all whilst Lewis and Kelly sat there staring at me...I managed to rope Lewis into drying up and putting the shit away. And Kelly must've felt guilty coz she then put vinegar in the microwave and switched it on (apperantly this loosens all the dirt off) and then cleaned that too. I then proceded to clean the filthy fucking George Foreman, coz no matter what you cooked on it tasted like bacon. After that, I wiped down all the surfaces. There was a lot of washing to be done, about 4 sink fulls in the end.
So that was my good deed for yesterday. Chris came back and seemed, well, not that bothered to be honest...oh well. Least I tried, eh?
When I get some money to spend on myself, which could be a long time, I think I'm gonna dye my hair blonde, coz apperently blondes have more fun. I need to have some fun... I don't care if it won't match my fucking eyebrows, or if I look like a complete fucking prick (as someone has said I will look), I'll be having fun, right? So who gives a fuck? I don't. And don't get me wrong here, I ain't gonna bleach the fuckers. I am imagining an ash blonde maybe. Something that isn't one solid block of blonde, but instead has different subtleties of blonde in it. From light blondes to dark blondes. I think it will look ok. At any rate, I am bored of brown. In fact, I'm just plain fucking bored.
I need to write my sister a letter. And my dad. I started to write my dad a letter in October, got halfway through and then stopped. I haven't finished it and I doubt I ever will. But it makes me feel better to think that I will. I haven't spoken to the guy since I was 8 and haven't recieved a letter from him, as my shitty memory tells me, since I was about 15. I'm now 20, nearly 21. I mean, what the fuck would I say? I have no idea. If I told him everything that has happened since I was 15 I may as well write a fucking book about the last 5 years of my life and get it published at the same time. I could then sign it and send it to him. And you know what the sad thing is? The reality of the situation?? If I were to finsih this letter to my dad, I probably wouldn't get a thing back. It's my birthday on the 9th of April. That'll be another birthday without so much as a card. You might be thinking that I can't predict the future, and that this year I might get one. Trust me, I won't. I have never liked birthdays, not for as long as I can remember, and I can't remember back that far, I think I can remember my 8th birthday, coz my cousin Laura came to visit and bought me a Smartie cake with 8 candles on it. I remember feeling special, but at the same time not worthy enough of recieving a Smartie cake. I hardly knew her since I'd only been in England a year, and here she was, buying me a cake. It was weird, but still nice I guess. I think part of the reason why I hate birthdays is coz my dad doesn't give a fuck about me. I mean, if he doesn't give a shit, why should anyone else? Everyone tries to make a fuss, but I don't want it. I really don't. I can't handle it. I feel like I don't deserve it. And if I'm honest, I don't. I feel like a fake, pretending that I'm good enough for the attention that is being showered on me. So please, if you know me personally, and have read this far, do me a favour, forget April the 9th. And it's my 21st too. I can hear you now, "It's your 21st! You've got to do something special! Like a party or something!". First of all, "Fuck you", and secondly "No, I don't. It's my fucking birthday, and I'll cry if I want to".
Fucking hell. This is probably the longest post I have ever done. And it's full of shit. I don't even know why I have written half of the irrelevant shit on here. Guess I'm just feeling a bit more sorry for myself than usual.
On a brighter note, I have been playing my guitar and writing lyrics more than I have for ages. The lyrics are a bit random, just random lines here and there. I do have one full set finished though, with music too. Who said the 'suffering artist' theory was bullshit? All I need now is to find out I have Cancer or AIDS and I'll have a number one album on my hands. I can dream I guess, can't I? Thinking of it now, with the amount I smoke, I probably already have Cancer. Does anyone else think it's weird that when people find out they have Cancer, that's the time when they go downhill? Maybe the cure for Cancer is not actually knowing you have it. Sometimes I think it's more psychological; like coz you know you have it, you give up. But what if you didn't know? Would you give up then?? There'd be nothing to give up on I guess. Except humanity maybe.
A lot of humanity pisses me off. It makes me sick to the stomach to think that society is breeding this fucking hip-hop/rap/chav culture with 14 year old mothers running around the fucking country with big hoop earrings, chewing gum and spitting. And what the fuck is with pulling one sock over your trouser leg? Did they forget to untuck it before they left the council estate? Or is this just 'fashion'. If I had a license to kill, the world would be a better place.
And I'm not even gonna get started on America, otherwise I'll be here all fucking day...
And did you know that the guy who got shot in the tube station for the 'bomb threat' thing wasn't wearing a rucksack, didn't jump the ticket booth things and didn't run from the fucking cops. Yet he got shot EIGHT times in the head! Did he even have a fucking head left??? I think one shot to the head would have sufficed, don't you?
Well, I think I have bored you all enough for now. Expect my next post to be in a couple of months, unless of course I have passed away from lung cancer by then. We'll see. Maybe I'll get lucky?
My lips are dry, and I want to die.
Have fun everyone,