It's 4 am or some ridiculous time and I've had an hour and a half of sleep. I don't like it. Not even Life on Mars glee is enough to keep me happy. Not even the prospect of Casino Royale later. Not even cake or death.
It's not fair! I hate the heat! I miss England! I want to go home!
Which brings me neatly to; hey look, I've been living in Adelaide for 13 years. I was supposed to have said something about it 2 weeks ago. And I forgot. That bodes well. England, you will not be home to me for a while. Unless, of course, you will. I'm kind of pinning my hopes on winning the lottery and making it over next year for a holiday. I was kind of hoping on doing that this year. And the last. I'd have to win the lottery, because there's no other way and I feel sad. Sad in that 'awww, I feel sad' kind of way, not the bawling way, because - uh - well, time has passed, and I'm not an angst puppy (regarding this).
It reminds me of articles I read during my course about how much location means in self-identity. For me, it means a lot. I'm always
And I think that they must have installed my patriotism chip in a very deep part of my brain, because even though I am fully aware that the fact I do this is
Did I mention it's hot? I wish I could fit in the freezer.