Today, I came to the conclusion (for about the squillionth time) that my not-too-distant-furture is non existent. Sure, I've applied for university. How I'm getting there if I've got a place is BEYOND me. I hardly have a job, and am unskilled, unfit and also have really unnatractive regrowth. Plus I fancy lying on the couch reading trashy chic lit and shoving plastic-cheese-and-vegemite-on-english-muffins into my mouth far too much. Days have begun blurring into one another, laughing at me as one dawns into the next, with just as little to offer as it's younger brother. I end up slumped on the couch, watching mid-life-crisis/post menopausal television shows such as The Circle and contemplating whether to just pack it in, change my name to Darleen/Rocheen/Marleen and serve Chicko Rolls to my husband named Wayne/Dwayne/Dayne while screaming to our kids, Darren and Karen, to shut ya mouth an' git ya mother a bloody smoke!'
Pushing the 'oh god i'm a complete and utter bogan failure' thoughts far from my head, I tried to cheer myself up today, by wearing cute outfits like this:
NB: Above ensemble did include turquoise explorer socks, not displayed in photo.
...and baking things with my sister, who I am currently living life through in a psychotic attempt to deny growing up:
(it's caramel mudcake, with a chocolate ganache. no darleen ever baked THAT! HA!)
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