Holy crap. Stop the presses!
I am having a moment where everything you need to do is hitting your face, just like a wet fish would slap your face if it jumped out of the water to berate you for eating its best friend.
Yes. It's a rude slap in the face. And its sharp tail probably made a gash on your delicate cheek and you're probably going to have a nasty scar there too. But at least you are that one step closer to Harry Potter (but sadly not to Daniel Radcliffe. Or Alan Rickman for that matter).
Wow. That spiel was oddly descriptive and a little bit creepy.
I need a moment to clear my head. I've gone on a crazy tornado of pestering industry heavy weights to come do a seminar at uni and finally, some kind of response! I will write about this in my uni blog since it's actually more appropriate there, given the tertiary content.
But my darling friend Joanne has actually alerted me to a job that is well... actually quite up my alley! It seems really good, except I don't know what that means for me. I am selfish and fickle and I want to do many things at once sometimes, or do things that completely different, like make a gorgeous documentary about funerals and making a skirt in Horsham with my dearest Susie (this has not happened yet, but I know when it does, it's going to blow socks off everyone).
So what do I do? Joanne says go for it anyway. Why not?
And yes: why not? I may not get it and if I don't then at least I don't regret not trying.
Oh this is some serious talk. Here's a hot guy:
He is actually what sex is made of.