Quitting smoking didn't work as well as I had hoped. Needing nicotine to work through some stress last night, I've taken to smoking occasional rollups when I have a need for a cig (stress-related mainly, the rest is breaking a trend of having a cig when I go for a walk). Fortunately, as I already had some Golden Virginia, the rollups are dirt cheap. This is good. Work, cigarettes and coffee past sundown. I am back in my element at last.
Iceland has given me two week's worth of food for fifteen quid. Nice food, at that. Decent oven chips that aren't the thin crap that seem to be the only analogy in the US, proper thick chips with a crispy outer and soft potato inside. Mmm, chips and battered chicken.
Related to the earlier post about having a large workload, lots of stress and no motivation, my daytime activities have been mostly concerned with getting my (now not too shabby) collection of Gundam kits up to speed. All the Wing kits are now painted and glued properly, even the two let-downs of the collection, cheap knockoffs of the Hellscythe-Kai and the Heavyarms-Kai. More will be forthcoming for anyone interested when I get a film for my camera for to add pictures. That Heavyarms-Kai is now pointing towards my door in full "Are you looking at my pint?" configuration, rockets and guns everywhere. Fun. Of course, now I've run out of the damn things to paint (save my Master Grade GP-01 and ZetaPlus, and I'm waiting before touching them). I might clean my room tomorrow daytime, it needs it.
The Werewolf Forum is a better place once more. Things have calmed down, there are no more self-righteous arseholes that don't even bother to make their posts funny, and most of the new people are clueful. Hell, Silverfeet's slowly making herself known again. That should say it all.
So yeah, life could be better but it's certainly not bad.
Snuffy's Suicide Attempts
Poor baby, life is rough for you, huh? No one
seems to see you, no one notices your pain--
except for your friend Big Bird, but he's alway
off hanging out with his other friends. You
wish you were him, all happy and curious and
popular and bright yellow. You feel like his
shadow anymore, like the only reason you exist
is to amuse him. It's hard being somebody's
imaginary friend. But stop trying to kill
yourself--imaginary people can't kill
themselves. Sorry. And hey, maybe tomorrow
you'll feel better!
Someday people will see you, I promise.
Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?
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What in a cemetery are you? by FictionalVixen.