Moving Sucks.
Uni Sucks.

My vampire ROCKS

Well, I figured that it would be wise to catalogue my Wednesday, now that I am starting to get over the injuries induced by said day.

Well. Woke up Wednesday morning to the thought of shopping. Now, normally that wouldn't phase me, but for some reason it didn't seem like a good idea that dya.

So, I got up, made coffee, and found out that my dog had, during the night, pulled all my bras off the line overnight and destroyed them. Ripped them apart. Even the very expensive one that my grandmother bought me just last year, and the ones my aunt gave to me.

So I had to go without my brother's birthday pressie in order to buy just one. $40/$200 of grocery money for the month gone.

As I was leaving the front yard, as I do, my dog sliped out with me. As he does. Only this time he decided he wasn't going to come back. No. He was going to go for a wander and damn the stupid human yelling at him to get beck inside.

So I trailed him to the corner, where he decided to run out into the road. He (unfortunately) avoided the cars, and I had to chase him around the block. Twice. On my sore foot.

These are not city blocks, at 100m/side. These are country blocks, at min. 1km/side.

By the time I caught the little bastard, I had lost my thongs, which I had to throw to keep up with him, and there were all sorts of people laughing at me chasing what looked like a dingo and yelling at him to come back.

I'd have let him just go, but he is a very recognisable dog, and his tag has my number on it.

So I had to carry the little bastard the half-block home, already exhausted and without shoes. I was limping because the bottom of my foot had split open again and I can't walk on it.

So I finally dragged the little bastard home, ignoring his teeth as they sank into my arm and his claws as they ripped up the side of my leg. I limped the 2.3km down to the shops, because I desperately needed food. Even the bastard mongrel needed food (bye bye, another $25)

Now, avoiding stepping on my heel, where the split is, meant that I needed to walk on my toes, and I did (after getting another pair of thongs) all the way to the shops, through the open-air mall and through K-mart.

Now, the result of doing that is that, even when being careful to gently place my foot on the floor, the muscle in the back of my calf no longer allows me to put my foot flat on the ground with out waves of pain radiating up through my leg. And, seeming as I can't walk properly becuase of that and the split, the muscle on the other leg is starting to do that too.

In plain, I hobbled my way to Uni yesterday because I needed to go, but I am not going today. What for? It's only a very boring movie and a more-boring lecture.

As for my arm, his teeth only broke the skin in a couple of places, so I just cleaned the blood from them and told people I was savaged by a dingo.

Which is, in part, true.

Within every writer is a land deeply magical and truly original. It is the land their imagination flocks to when they set down to write. It is the only land they can think of. It is the land in which they dwell for their entire lives. It is the land of their heart, mind and soul. It is their saving grace, their greatest vanity, their worst vice. It is their greatest asset and their biggest saving grace. There is nothing in the world they would trade their world for, nothing they could trade it for. It is their world, only theirs, with input and influence from no one. Their readers may read of it, imagine it, but they will never live it like their writers. It is their hearts in words, their minds on paper, their souls bound in leather.
It is their Middle Earth, their Old Kingdom, their Narnia, their Terabithia. It is their land. And there is nothing greater in the world than the feeling of saying that their Discworld is their own world, that their Hogwarts is their kingdom, their Tortall their country.
Bring your imagination to life and create your own immortal country, whether for only one small play or forty long books. Spend your time inhabiting another world, your life dwelling in the stars, your existence dwelling on your subjects. Spend your time sailing seas, scaling mountains, exploring valleys. Live among your people, live with your people, live as your people. Suffer, succeed, feel as they do, and you will feel their joy and sorrow, their grief and happiness, their pain and pleasure.
So if you ever feel that there is nothing left in you to write, nothing left to imagine, nothing to create, simply think of the world your mind imagines and write it out. Write your heart, your mind, your soul out on paper. Write until you feel there are no words in your soul. If you can think, you can write.
All you have to do is try.
To fly, all you need are your dreams and a good push.

And you WILL, one day, write your very own Neverland.

I hereby submit a challenge to thee who is reading this.

And thine challenge be this:

Draw thine best dragon. With or without background, up to thee. I'm talking any dragon thee can. 2 wings, 2 legs. 2 wings, no legs. No wings, 4 legs. No wings, no legs. Wait, that's a snake.

Anyway, thee get the idea. Post them in thine deviantart account. I shall think of something for the winner.

...

...

Not that I really expect thee to do it, but I feel better for voicing my challange. I shall be taking it, anyway.

Joy to the world,
The semester's over
Let me finally rest in peace
without assignments
or bloody exams
Though I failed Psychology.
I failed Psychology...
And have no confidence in Asian Studies.

(To tune of 'Joy to the World' for those of you who couldn't work it out.)

Anyway, as my little song-thing says, I've managed to fail Psychology, and it's not looking good for Asian Studies. As a result, I've been reading through the Wiki pages on Japan and Indonesia in a hope to glean *some* sort of understanding, and calling it studying. After all, it's easier to read than those bloody textbooks!

On an excellent, but not unexpected, sidenote, I have passed History with flying colours (for me, 87%) and English just as well (HUGELY unexpected, 85%). Failing Psych means that, if I don't plan on swapping over to that 'Museum Curator/Management' BA course at ANU, then I'll have to do it again next year.

Fat frigging chance.