When you’re 21, you’re no fun.
Found this picture lying around at the parental in-laws. I was 22, in fairness – but then those song lyrics wouldn’t work.
Oh, to be 22, possessing Photoshop skills… They were simpler times.
Actually, there’s no way I wish them back. I was pretty insecure and I probably hadn’t eaten for 5 days. So I was digitally mysterious – and really fucking hungry.
* * * * *
It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve made it back to Essex. I stood up on the train the whole way last night because there were no seats. And I’m sick again for the second time in as many weeks. Also, I forgot about the coffee situation in Essex – that is to say, it doesn’t exist. How have I managed this oversight?
Aside from figuring out the caffeination situation, I have to wrap some presents. I hate wrapping presents.
Joyeux noël, bitches.
Peace out, good will toward men. And women.