SATURDAY
Is a mighty depressing day to be spending in ones office, writing. Managed to crank out over 700 words today, which I emailed to my Dad for safekeeping. I still have very little faith in my computer, even though it hasn't had a tanty for a good two days now.
Tamara is leaving. One of my best mates is buggering off to Melbourne, armed with her boyfriend, a camera, a portfolio and some phenomenal photographic talent.
Much like myself, Tamara has spent the last few years doing the old hospitality thing, means to an end and all that, but shes finally going to be rid of it. Good on her I say, in fact I'm insanely jealous and would love to not have to spend my weekends being nice to complete bastards who think that just cos you're a waitress you have an IQ equivalent to a squashed pea, and that you are a lesser person than them. Not that I get anyone like that where I work now!! (potential employers please take note of demonstrated employee loyalty)
So I will soon be Tamara-less. I've got to respect her for doing it though, I really wish that I had the where-with-all to get up and go, but I've got this pesky thesis to finish. Not that I don't love what I'm doing now, cos I do, but everytime ones friend's leave, one is reminded of what one is not doing. One day when I have a smashing job saving the world, after fixing a few other things first, I can spend my days flitting around the world, visiting all my friends scattered across the globe. Of, course, thats also once I've married Dream Guy.
Hmmmm. Go, unrealistic expectations!!!!

Magic number for the day: 846. That is how many words I have written on my thesis since 9am this morning. If I keep up this speed, it will be written by.....ummm.....no, can't work that out. It's an arts faculty thing.
Many excitements planned for this weekend. Number One, complete absence of alcohol, given dentist prescribed antibiotics. After the root canal thing (not as rude as it sounds) I expected all sorts of drama, instead I get amoxycillin. Its a very good word, try saying it ten times fast.  By the time I get to the great piratical rumbustification that is Sara's housewarming, nobody will be making any sense. There is the argument to made however, that not a lot of sense is being made in the first place.
Then, to top the whole thing off, theres that pesky chapter to have finished. Crap.

Haha!!!
Last night I sent a thesis-related email to someone at the World Bank (is Shonali a girls name or a boys name?) and this morning I received a reply, granting permission to cite the article in question, and requesting to read aforementioned thesis upon completion!!!
Yay, there is actually someone out there who wants to read my thesis (aside from those who are being paid).
I feel all validated now. Its a good feeling.
Dentist aside, I think today will be a good day.

Can someone please explain something to me?
How is it that when the alarm goes off at 8am (ok, 9am) one is capable of sleeping through not only the clock radio, but the cell phone alarm, for up to an hour; but when one is woken up at 3am by a very noisy and inconsiderate flatmate coming home from work, there is not a shit show in hell of one getting back to sleep, and one is forced to resort to a hot chocolate and an hours reading in order to return to the land of nod?
Please send your answers to cne13@student.canterbury.ac.nz
That is all.

I'd just like to say that Dave cooked a lovely pasta meal tonight that had chicken and veges and stuff in it, with little bowtie pasta in a red sauce, and it was ever so lovely.
That is all.
You are free to go.

Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk beside me, for the path is narrow...in fact, just fuck off and leave me alone.

Yes, I know, its the third one today.
This one is especially for you Phil, cos Dave tells lies. The canoe has nothing to do with me feeling any way in particular, I just thought it would be cool to have a canoe, to tie on the roof of the liitle blue beastie and drive out to Corsair Bay or some such place and have a wee paddle around and have adventures. That is all.
Now go away, I'm very busy and important.
Phil, be nice, or I'll publish your age in my next blog.

And so it begins.
How does one begin a blogging career?
Does one ramble of lifes trivialities, in manner of Miss Jones or similar? Perhaps a discovery of the intricacies of day to day existence, the small moments that define us, in the manner of Mrs Woolf. Or maybe a stream of consciousness observation of the clash between the internal or the external, in the manner of Mr Joyce?
In all honestly, it will probably amount to nothing more than a weekly account of what happened on er that week.
Dave, you are no longer safe though, cos rest assured there will be response. Its not red, its strawberry blonde.

OK I know that it is only the first day of this whole thing, so don't go thinking that this whole two blogs in one day thing is going to be normal. My crappy computer, being the extra crap model, from the house of crap, #3 Crap road, crapville, just crapped itself. I nearly lost the almost 700 words I wrote today (no, thats not normal either, crap), and then I thought I was going to lose my whole chapter, (crap) then, being the alarmist that I am, (crap) thought I was going to lose all the work that I have done on my thesis so far. (big crap)
Never fear, Nic came and saved the day by pressing some buttons and making things click. Yay.
Dave's cooking tonight, so if this is the last you hear from me, you know why. (Oh, I'm so going to get it when he reads this!!!)