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


My 100 Things

Mail Me

Currently Reading:

The Outsider - A Camus

Choke - C Palahnuik


Sunday, December 8

It's madness I tell you. I'm sat here at university on a Sunday afternoon and it's 3pm. That means I have been here for 4 hours. I was also here yesterday. I should have been at work yesterday but a mild seizure on Friday which caused my brain to cease up completely led me here instead. In the 4 hours I have been here I have smoked 2 cigarettes (I don't really smoke at all normally), eaten my lunch, had some soup (seperate form the 'lunch' part), drank hot chocolate and water, checked my email every 5 minutes and wazzed about 18 times. Oh and I have written a few hundred words. I'm really restless. It was lovely and quiet when I first arrived. I mean who else would be in uni at that unheard of hour on a sunday morning apart from the janitor and Straight Man A? But now I am surrounded by loud talking people who don;t even talk in English and who eat their lunch that smells of stale crap in my face. It's 'forbidden' to eat in the labs and this is why. Because it reeks. I can't concentrate as it is but when all I can smell is curried puke I just wanna get up and punch someone, preferably them that are eating stinkin' food and talking loudly as though they are at opposite ends of the country. It's completely inconsiderate. And then I'll be sitting here shooting them evil looks and they talk louder and gesture in my direction in their unknown language and burst out laughing. It's smart really because now when I fail to get past the 500 word mark I can blame my failure on gobby, badly dressed people who also have nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon. I like to blame other people for my misfortune. It makes me feel much much better,unlike that stench that is going to cling to my nostrils until I die. Or until they do... Hmmm, where's those pills so I can crush them up into their runny shit like food when they are least expecting it? I tell you, I'm thatclose .

Listening to: freaks in patterned jumpers