When things tend to go wrong for myself and those I love, I feel so hopeless. Next year is such a frightening prospect; four years down the line I've still stuck to the plan, so much so that staying in SA isn't even an option anymore.
To be totally fucking honest, too, I hate driving. I wanted to love it, really I did. And I do enjoy cruising around Grahamstown because it's so quiet and I know it, and I have officially NAILED the reverse parallels outside the department. But selling (I'm trying not to phrase it 'getting rid of') Sparky when I go home isn't sounding too bad. I'm going to have to rely on lifts from my mom and dad once again, and I'm sure Charlie won't mind lifting me to go out in his new Corsa - lord, I hope he hasn't had another accident while I've been away - but my dad was right: you become dependant on the car. It's a beautiful day outside today, and Sparky sits in all her faded redness waiting to take me home after what amounts to my last official tut EVER. I could've walked. I didn't.
I think I complain too much - it's a character flaw. Maybe with the lack of blogging I'm not getting it out as much as before and the people I live with now suffer! Either way, it's something I want to change.
For someone who isn't going to vote, why am I so invested in Kerry beating Bush? I guess it impacts me somewhere along the line.
Heard this the other day: the height of stupidity would be really believing you're related to Joshua Doore.
This is a 
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