Sometimes it is easier to complain than to do anything about it. Well, it's always easier to complain. In fact, I live for complaining. Complaining is so much fun that I'll put myself out in order to have the opportunity to complain. Example: The radiator is on, I am wearing a jumper, and I am too hot. Yet, do I remove said article of clothing, or turn the radiator down a notch? No no. I leave it on so that I can tell people how darn hot I am (very), and let them know about my uncomfortablality. Pointless, yes. It is evident that I am simply an attention whore. But we knew that anyway. There is nothing worse than a self confessed attention whore. By admitting it, I am, by default, trying to draw attention to myself. I am going to stop now, as I am a) drawing attention to myself, b) running out of things to say and c) confusing my already over-befuddled grey matter.
That paragraph had no relevance to anything.
But hey.
Today, I had some sad news about my, cough, lovely family. I won't carry on - it's not interesting in the slightest. But I just thought I'd mark it down for future reference.
I'm sorry for lack of engrossing blogness, but I really cannot be bothered.
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