*hurrah* That awkward moment when they realize you have a #life despite their best efforts to destroy it.

Irresponsible Asking someone to buy something they can't afford (and knowing that they can't afford it). Asking someone to kiss them when they're sick (and knowing that what they've got is contagious). Asking someone to sacrifice their time (when their time is what pays the bills). Asking someone to manage something even though they have no experience in such matters (and expecting them to be good at it). Asking someone to do stuff (and knowing they hate to do that stuff). ---------- Do nice things because you want to. Not because others expect you to and you don't want to disappoint them. It's irresponsible of you to jeopardize your position and well-being just because you want to be seen as the good guy. If they demand any of the above, they don't and won't see you as the good guy. They won't understand when you politely refuse and give an otherwise reasonable explanation (no matter how many times they try to convince you of the contrary, after the fact - see the evidence and trail the precedence). They see you as a rug to wipe their shoes on. Stand up. Walk out. Enjoy the sunshine.

38350.43611 Dear Richmond-upon-Thames, I miss the weekend trips to who cares where as long as the country-side rolls by. Lake District will forever be a sweet memory and I hope I'll visit it again one day. I've a promise to keep in 2007. I hope the others in the pact will honour that promise. I miss the people in the pact greatly. They were and will always be the most beautiful people I'd been blessed to make more than a casual acquaintance with. Do live happy lives. I miss the river. The evenings spent walking by it. The weekends spent roller-blading on the sidewalk (unintentionally terrorising the passers-by). Walking through the paddocks, past the cemetery, past the old church. The view from the Hill, of the sparkling, winding river. The wooden benches with their faded inscriptions, "In Memory of..." so and so. The tall grass, the winding path down the Hill to the river, that branched off to the little cafe in the private garden which served apple-pie with vanilla ice-cream and lemonade, the perfect companion to a well-written book on a lazy, hot summer's day. I miss the little town, where the old folks would hang out feeding pigeons chatting about God knows what with each other. It'd take you about 3 hours to walk through every street, every little alley. And if you weren't tired, you'd do it again - so pretty was this town. Past the little cafes where the students mingled with their professors (some openly flirting with each other). Past the one cafe which served that melt-in-your-mouth salmon dish. Past the little arcade which had a modern one-armed bandit... oh what a highly-skilled bandit you were, enticing me to the point where your muggings were welcomed - even looked forward to. Past that one B&B... naughty nights (and sometimes days).... That pub across the road. So strategically located opposite the entrance as if to say, "When you're done, come on over... relax with us in front of the telly, have a drink or two and a fag while you're here." The unforgettable car-push up the Hill. The time and money spent trying to fix it then spent cursing the idiocy then laughing when we'd suddenly realised that all it needed was anti-freeze and a little fuel.... And the stupid drive down that one-way road (the wrong way). The 45 minute train-ride from Gloucester Road. Houses whizzing past. Old folks having tea in their gardens. Kids playing. Adults rushing. The time spent dozing through Psychology or my half-hour cigarette breaks in the middle of my 3-hour long lectures but never forgetting the reason I was there in the first place. Montague House, the Tower block and so many other places with names I can't remember anymore... So much to write but all good things must come to an end. It's time to log off now so until we meet again, stay perfect. With much love and affection, p.s. I dreamt about you last night. I miss you. It was 10 years and 9 months ago. Do you remember?

Got Swag? Evidently, shopping and cosmetics (to attain swag) are man-ly pursuits these days. I'd rather collect war stories and battle scars. Keep the swag. It looks better on you.

I Don't Care Anymore You explain it. The lies and deception. The falsified impression. The dungeon dimension. The endless derision. You explain it. Your deviant obsession. Your needy possession. Your baseless assumption. Your lack of compassion. You explain it. Just, not to me.