Oh. No.
Oh dear bloggers, we (as in I) seem to have a leetle, tiny, problem. Someone is going to have to slap me silly. But first, a psychologist update...
So. After therapy tonight, it has come to light that I have a problem with 'Saturday nights'. As in, I don't have anything to do on Saturday nights, and this is affecting my depression levels. Well, I do actually; I get takeaway and settle in to watch Judge John Deed either at my place, or at the parents', but somehow it doesn't quite stack up with the pubbing and clubbing, and sleeping with people that have torn sheets that I seem to be confronted with every Monday. Now I know, and you know, that there's nothing wrong with taking it easy on the weekend, "I work hard, and like to relax on the weekend" (Copyright, RSVP), but in the stupid little regimented part of my brain, 'relaxing' every Saturday night with a Queso Fundido, and the trials and tribulations of the English Law System is lame and thus, makes me lame by default.
So, my homework for the next fortnight is as such:
1 - Accept watching Judge John Deed as a treat for working hard during the week; keeping telling self that Saturday night is not the be-all and end-all of nights.
Is this the be-all and end-all of British Law?
2 - Make a move to 'mix-up' my Saturday nights by myself and do something that I enjoy in public, like nudity. Well, not quite, maybe start off with something smaller like; go to Readings or Borders and read a book whilst partaking in a coffee on a Saturday night; Walk down a nice strip of shops (IE - Chapel Street, Burke Road, Brunswick Street); Go for walk along beach; etc. Brainstorming/Suggestions are very welcome. I only have two weeks!
3 - Enquire about 'groups' that I can join - that meet Saturday night. This is going to be hard.
So while I have a think about my homework, let's turn our attention to more pressing matters; MY PROBLEM.
It can be summarised as follows:
In somewhat disturbing news, I have a MAJOR CRUSHES on an ex-boy band member and the fat cunt from Australian Idol.
Oh. Fucking. No.
Who said I didn't have anything to write about.