Diary of a Glitter Splashed Britney Lovin' Lesbo

I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else

Name:Miss Fee


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Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Friday, December 6

I swear I can't take it anymore. I can't remember the last time I was this stressed out. It really plays havoc with your mind. It's all just too much. I chose to do the optional fourth year at uni, mostly because I fucked up so badly last year and thought this would be a chance to redeem myself if you like. Only I didn't think there would be this much work involved. I didn't think I'd be dreaming (nightmaring rather) about dissertations and literature reviews and wondering when I'll be able to relax again. I'm so tense that my fingers shake. I'm starting smoking for the next 2 weeks. I have been sat here for about 6 hours and am incapable of forming a proper sentence. It doesn't help when my 'coursework panic' leads me to take out my rage on everyone around me. It doesn't help when I get embroiled in a text slanging match of my own making. It doesn't help my stress to stress other people out along with me so why do I do it? To take my mind off the 5000 words I must compose before Monday? No excuse is a valid one.

Unlike kitty and maggie and sometimes charmin who often get disillusioned with blogging which causes them to wonder why they do it, I think blogging is the only thing that keeps me relatively sane. I think I'd be a big crumbled mess if I didn't have somewhere to vent my frustrations about the appaling nature of everything in my little world. I love to blog. I can be in a mood more foul than a pungent fart and once I start to write I am instantly lifted up again and everything is put in perspective and I can see that there is more to me than being fraught with anger. And that is why I am writing this, so I don;t reach for the knife or even for the email to mail my lecturers and pathetically beg for an extension because my own lazy arse left everything till the last minute, the way I always do. Self inflicted stress must be worse that any other stress because I know I caused it all on my own but at least I know it is fixable.

And there it is. I feel better. My heart has slowed to a reasonable rate and the sweat is drying from my fingers. I feel calm enough to tell you that last night I crossed dressed. I donned a red boob tube as a skirt, a sleeveless top and knee high boots. It was truly a wonderous sight and I looked like a cross between tank girl and a fat Sarah Jessica Parker. I'm so glad i had that camera out of sight! The sight of my corn beef legs and dimply knees and flabby bingo wings would have been enough to have fainting film processors all over the land! I was not born to wear girly clothes or at least not ones that show as much flesh as a whore in the throes of passion. Truly vile I say, truly vile. And so I will leave you with the thought of Miss Fee posing as a tubby hooker. Not a sight that will make your dreams pretty.

Enjoy the weekend, I'm sure mine will be just swell once my brain starts to refunction again.