Seriously. I'm having a good day, in objective terms. A promising reply to my flatmate wanted ads around campus, and an interesting teaching course this morning. The realisation that my skintness isn't that terrible, since a) i don't have time to run up expenses, b)i can teach in the department next year and c)i can keep my head above water if i apply just for odd job type things. (invigilating and so on) The book sale in the Atrium today at which i picked up a brace of crime novels for a pound each. The fact that my fake fur is getting an airing for the first time since March. Yesterday's hennaing adventure. You get the idea. Yet an hour or so ago i nearly burst into tears over something so stupid i don't even want to get into it here. Believe me, if that situation didn't exist, i would vote against inventing it. (or use either the block or stand-aside if the decision was being made by consensus - babe, if you want it, you can have it. Being all nice and anti-sexist, i think men should be able to have it too.)

Jeez, this is so not the evening i'd planned. I'd carefully bought chocolate, the installment of the Dr Who dvd with my favourite episode and the first bit of a two-parter that got lost when i asked my dad to record it, and some knitting that has an intended target for once. Then period hormones and a selection of irritations fuck that plan up. I might still try to go ahead with it regardless. worst comes to worst i could make up some slashfic to cheer myself up...

I want to take some leaves from my pennyroyal plant, but for a premenstrual vegetarian that feels rather like maiming my pet. Go figure.