Nic has a second life and that is too awesome for words!

OK I am sitting on my bed about to nearly be late for work just because I absolutely had to download a song to listen to because it's stuck in loop in my head. And that took a few minutes more than I wanted it to and now I'm like, buh, I have to get the later bus which is uber later and I have some time to kill.

This week has been quite difficult. Last Sunday my mum went missing. It was seriously one of the scariest things I've ever been through, which sounds awfully dramatic and all. Eventually at 1am I called the police, a shaking hysterical mess, only to get freaked out when I told them what kind of car my mum has and the police woman thingy put me on hold and then came back what seemed like three hours later to ask me if I had the means of getting to a hospital if necessary. (No!)

Panic attacks have never been so snotty, let me tell you.

Eventually she did come home, and she had been with her ex boyfriend who I hate because a) he is an alcoholic knob who does not make mum happy, and b) he used to smack me around until one day I smacked him back. Imagine a little 18 year old Katey (OK, not that little) squaring up to some big old drunk guy and socking him on the chin. Luckily we were outside when that happened, and I ran inside to phone mum while he tried to break the door down, and mum said "what did you do to provoke him?" I remember hiding in my room talking online to my friend, who in this blog shall be called Hugh, shaking with the exhileration of smacking him and the anger at mum's reaction.

Ahhh love makes people blind and stupid and tasteless.

Work has also been awful this week. I enjoy my job, I look after the accounts of huge companies you know the names of for an even huger company you definitely know the name of, and I sell them the bits and bobs that makes their business actually function. But oh dear christ, the volume of work is just silly. I get so stressed I feel sick, like there's a vat of gloopy awfulness in my stomach, sloshing around and threatening to spill over and make me projectile vomit all over the phone the next time it rings.


My crush on Fittie is not subsiding. It would be a whole lot easier if he wasn't so utterly and completely attractive in every single way, and easier still if he were not the nicest, funniest man I have known in a long time and quite possibly ever. He needs to get with his hot blonde housemate, stat, because he is too gorgeous for the likes of me. I will end up with a nice nerd who shares my alliance with Nintendo and penchant for Asian cinema, and Fittie will go be a vagrant in some far flung country with a gorgeous model. That is the way of the world.