I have an awful cold, courtesy of my wonderful housemates, so apologies if this is rather boring, and peppered with references to coughing up lime green slime.
I want to move house.
I have sent a text to my Connexions PA begging for help in finding somewhere suitable, and I'm prowling the Internet for a job delivering leaflets. I plan to be sneaky, sign up to several companies, then whack out 3 or 4 leaflets at each house - therefore greatly increasing my earnings. This is also clever, as it means I can pace the streets without people worrying about me, my weight or my mind.
Getting back to the point, I need to move house.
Not only does delightful mature student think it is vastly amusing that they have passed on their plague, he still seems peeved that I said I felt ill, and did not want a conversation. I mean, surely I can snuffle my way downstairs and rest my head on the table while I wait for the kettle to boil without being subject to his abysmal sense of humour? Seriously, it is like having your soul sucked out through a too-small orifice by a half-hearted anteater.
Second housemate has a child. Yes, a small noisy creature, which of course hates me, and decided that early this morning, when I had finally got to sleep, that the best option was to cry. Loudly.
It stays over most weekends, which was most certainly not what I signed up for when I moved in. If I wanted sleepless nights and screaming children, I would have had my own and got a nice cosy council flat, right?
Also, if he uses my facecloth to wipe his kids arse again, I am going to literally hit the roof.
I am quite annoyed at the moment. I'm like this when I'm (physically) ill, I get grumpy because I feel like shite and every time I try to do something, my nose starts running. Particularly if I'm up to my elbows in washing up.
I've done nothing to my Insight project over the holiday's, but I've had a bit more on my mind, what with Nan being ill and then dying, Boyfriend getting himself kicked out the other night, and desperately needing to move.
I think they've got the point that I don't want to talk right now, they haven't knocked on my door since I went down stairs and made the point that "it's half ten, can you at least turn the music down if you insist on listening to that shit?!". They've tried talking, but I once again pointed out that I'm ill, I don't want to talk to you, I just want to go back to bed.
I need some sleep but I can't breathe properly, I'm so stuffed up, and lying down makes it worse. I've got my eye on a little flat in Hornchurch, but I don't want to call the estate agents if all I'm capable of saying is "Uggg".
Well, I hope you are all feeling better than me, and that you avoid the Winter Lurgie...