He lies on the bed, feet shuffling nervously. The noise of the road is stifled by the thick concrete walls that surround the two of them. He knows not how to say what he really wants to and stumbles over a long tangle of incoherent words. He hasn't been here for a long time. Not in this town. Not in this cheap motel. Not in this place. He doesn't remember what it's like to be here all the time. He doesn't remember that when he goes back home, he leaves this town and those within it with nothing but a memory of him and a distant voice over the telephone. He often forgets what life is like for other people.

She sits quiet and still across from him, watching his feet shuffle nervously on the cheap, industrial carpet. She wishes the sounds of life outside would break through the claustrophobic walls that encase the two of them and the rough, aesthetically offensive carpet. She knows what he is trying to say, but part of her hates him for thinking it and lets him struggle to find the words. This is her home. He never comes here. Sometimes she misses him, but she has begun to realise that her love for him increases with every moment he spends away from her. When he leaves her home, he leaves her with a memory and reasons for tears. Only then can she rebuild her life, herself and the love she will again feel for him when the days run into a year.

He wants her to explain why his life turned out this way. He wants her to tell him why she isn't a part of his life anymore. He wants her to show him what he could have done to prevent all of this. He doesn't understand why she only talks about the present. He needs to talk about the past. He needs her help.

She is tired. She is eight years old and doesn't like sitting in cheap motel rooms, when her home is mere metres away. She doesn't know her Dad that well and from what she can tell, she's not ever going to get to know him.

Guten morgen, meine freunds..

Today was the day I realised I can't spell in German.

OH! And that I'm dying of Swine Flu. I'm not being melodramatic or lying. I'm literally dying of the flu. Last night, I couldn't breathe; it felt like my entire bodyweight was sitting on my chest and I couldn't get that beautiful, beautiful o2 into my stupid, stupid lungs. I was awake all night with a stupid fever, coughing up stupid phlegm and thinking about my stupid assignment (which is due tomorrow).

This morning, I awoke to Joel's Mum knocking on the door, asking if she could come in to get the wedding invite, so she could read it to Shirley. I answered. Wait.. I thought I answered. My brain went "Sure, come in", but my vocal chords went "Hhhhhh". ($*WE@IHEI????

These may be my last days on God's green Earth. So while I sit here and wish for only three things (de-phlegmed lungs, the will to do my assignment and a Happy Meal), I write.. In the hope that some research scientist will stumble across my ramblings - long after I have ceased to exist - that will, in turn, spur him/her on to work endlessly on a cure for this dreaded influenza.

Help. I am ~in~ the fluenza.

Tonight was our last Latin dance lesson as beginners. I was determined to have just one drink with some of the people I have met, as I plainly enjoy their company. So, throughout the lesson, I let a bunch of guys know that I was recruiting people for a drink down at the Lychee Lounge. One. Just the one. No, seriously. Actually one. A problem occurs.. Because it's a male and female dance class, we only dance with guys, unless we're short of guys, in which case, we dance with a girl. It's all good experience, because if you're not practising your steps, then you get to revise leading. Anyway, I digress. So, there I am.. Asking a bunch of guys to come for drinks with me (and Kristie!). Here comes the response.. "Oh.. um. I'm not sure what I'm doing after class yet.", "Oh.. It's a Thursday *yawn* night, so.. I have to *yawn* work tomorrow..". As this was happening, it occurred to me that some of these guys thought I was actually asking them out for drinks. I had been rejected.. Without ever *really* extending the invitation. WHAT?? Wow.. That helps my self esteem lots.

Okay, so.. Paul, Steve and I got it all together and went to look at two places I'd booked inspections in for. One at Stafford Heights and one at KG. Long story short, we turn up to Stafford Heights.. But nobody else does. No real estate agents, no men in funny hats.. NOTHING. We went all that damn way for fucking nothing. So, today I rang the real estate in question and spoke to a receptionist there. I told her the whole story; how I received the confirmation email, but no text message saying the inspection had been cancelled etc etc.  She puts me on hold again and checks the agent's bookings for that day .. She says none are on there, so even though it registered on my end, there must have been a computer error whereby the booking did not notify them (it's all automatic, she says).

So I ask (as I think is reasonable..): 

"I know your real estate has a policy that we must view the property before submitting an application.. But, since there was some form of error, is there any way we can still apply for the property without having seen it?"

"Oh no no. No you definitely have to view it first. There's another two inspections coming up.. One this Tuesday.."

"..I have to work on Tuesday.."

"..And one on Saturday that you can attend.."

".. I also have to work on Saturday.."

".. But yeah you'd have to go to one of those."

".. Um.. Yeah I can't. I have work on.."

"Unfortunately. Sorry about that"

"Yes.. That's great... No, unfortunately, we can't attend either of those inspections. We all have work. Unfortunately, it was only on Saturday that we could attend.. So.. I guess.. We.. Just can't apply for that property. Thanks anyway."

"Bye"


So instead, I emailed the agent who was supposed to have met us there.

Dickweeds.

It would be soo nice and refreshing IF and only IF
a) the stupid idiot who's telling you it was a "computer error" wouldn't interrupt when I am speaking or try and talk over my answers to her propositions
b) if the stupid idiot who's pawning the damn thing off on a "computer error" would offer some form of solution, resolution or midway-happiness-potion, rather than just doing a) and ignoring everything i am saying
c) the guy who was meant to meet us there, but who obviously fucked up would answer my email promptly and in a courteous manner befitting the bitch of industries that real estate and the rental market actually are.

These fools are sending me prematurely WHITE-HAIRED and I am so fucking sick of house hunting. It rhymes with another term I am thinking of. It's an adjective, starts with C and looks like *UNTING. You figure it out.

I rue the day I moved in with my pissweak excuse for a father and didn't take it upon myself to start my life-long education in real estates and the scum they are.

FIERRRRCE.

 

GOOD MORNING!

Or should I say.. Guten morgen?

I'd firstly like to ask: "WTF mate?" in light of this screen cap:

I know it's not a fantastically fantastic sized picture, but I believe if you click on it, you will be able to see that in my (first) last (oxymoron?) entry, I typed "Location" as "homsies". Which, to me.. Means, well.. "I am at home". However, this morning it came to my attention that if I hovered me little mouse above the location "homsies", a Google map pops up. My first thought was "Huh..? How.. Does LiveJournal know where MY home is. My exact home! It's location on Google Maps?? HOwwwwwwwwWw??".

I soon found out that no, it was not my version of "homsies" that appeared on the Google map pop-up, but instead, a little circuit road near Bockseifen, which appears to be in Germany, near the German-Belgian border. Hmm.. Interesting.

So, apparently, I live somewhere around.. Here:



Which is great; I've always wanted to go to Germany and just never quite got there. I was at the French-Belgian border a couple of years ago.. Or at least we figured out afterwards that was the most likely explanation of our locale.

I wish that instead of driving to France from England, that we'd driven THROUGH France and continued on to Germany. Because we all know the French are arseholes.

So.. Here I am, starting another LJ that I will eventually get too lazy to update. Plus, my life is boring, so there's not a whole lot to put in here.

Uni enrolments opened on the 11th of Dec. and I've actually re-enroled. Believe it or not, I even did it on the 11th. Yes, I'm organised. I've slacked off and taken two first year and one second year class.. Lol. Still, I'm easing back into it. Like cold water on nuts. Slowly.

Work is going to be crazy this week. Hopefully. My sales have been down and I have no freaking idea why. I'm trying.. But not too hard..? Maybe I was never cut out for a high-budget job? Not sure.

I can't believe it's nearly 2009. Sweet bb Jesus, I'm getting old. Before I know it, I will be 22 and everyone knows, it's all downhill from there. 18-21 and you're still a young, sexy kid. 22 and you're decrepit. People have already stopped asking me for ID at bottlos etc. Every time someone doesn't card me, it happens like this:

Cashier: "Hi, how you going today?"
Me: "Good thanks. And you?"
Cashier: "Not bad thanks. Just that one? $32, please."
Me: "I'll just pay by card.."
Cashier: "Swipe your card when you're ready."
*EFTpos machine thinks*
Me: *pulls out ID* "Did you.. err.. Want to check this..?" *looks at "IF YOU LOOK UNDER 25, WE WILL ASK FOR IDENTIFICATION" sign*
Cashier: "No, that's fine thanks. Have a nice day."
Me: "Oh.."

:(