O2, Emma, Celine Dion, Cats and the end

It’s been a little quiet here, there are several reasons for that.

First of all; I was being deprived of my internet for almost 48 hours. Thank you O2.

“Your internet connection will be down for approximately 30 minutes while we carry out some maintenance work”-Hah! 30 minutes my ass! 30 minutes in cave man time, maybe…

(May I also add a little anecdote of how O2 screwed up my phone while upgrading the software, and then managed to lose it? It was apparently sent to me ten days ago, but it still hasn’t appeared and as a result I am stuck with a nokia 6021, from 1992 (ish) which doesn’t ring and so I have no alarm clock. I borrowed Emma’s but her alarm tone is so bloodcurdling that I can’t sleep of fear of waking up to it).

That brings us to Emma, the second reason I have not been very active. She is leaving early tomorrow and I am dreading that moment. (I am mourning). Without going into tear causing details, let me just say I will miss her a lot. I don’t want to come home to an empty flat every night. There are just so many disadvantages of living alone.

• I will have no one to blame for the dirty dishes.
• I have no ones alarm clock to borrow
• No one will listen to my burps which are really impressive (-Yes, I burp. It’s fashionable)
• No one will praise me for my cooking skillz (you guys don’t even leave a comment)
• No one is gonna get upset when I don’t put the toilet lid down
• Etc etc.

It is all very sad.

I try telling myself that I am a strong, young, independent woman, but what’s the point of being rebellious and independent by not putting the toilet lid down, when there is no one to notice? Huh? Go on, tell me!

There is no point in anything anymore.

I am sad. I am listening to Celine Dion. I hate Celine Dion. Okay that’s a lie. No one hates Celine Dion (apart from maybe her maid, and Mariah Carey). But I’d like to think that I am too cool to be listening to Cilly Dilly. This just proves how low I feel. *taking every chance to be melodramatic*.

This is it. This is where I loose it. I can just see myself coming home after Uni, turning on the shower and sitting down on the bathroom floor, still fully dressed, under the ice cold stream, while listening to Journey- small town girl (Emma’s favourite) for five hours (or until my monkey turns it off and brings me a cup of hot tequila). I will become the creepy lady on the second floor. I will never leave the flat and eventually I will be eaten by Alsatians (like in Bridget Jones) or, god forbid, - CATS. That would be dramatic. I tell you. When my lease runs out in May, the estate agent will open the door and find me on the floor in my dressing gown (I don’t own one but I might get one just for this), with a bunch of cats feasting on my corpse. The monkey will be long gone. Probably back in south India. She hates cats you know.

I am off. I need to see if a can get a hold of a bunch of stray cats.