I'm about to (quelle surprise) head off to university. YES I KNOW I'M BORING AND REPETITIVE, AT THIS STAGE I'M REALLY NOT CARING. I totally creamed another 3500 word assignment over the weekend. Woot. So I'm handing in this cunt, then heading to the library to find resources for my next fucking slut of a paper. It's not due until... Wednesday week, I don't think, so a shade of breathing space for this one. Although, I still need to fix up my biggest paper, which still resembles a ginormous, gaping asshole. You know, like in porn, where they seem to relish in really loose anuses, and the dick, like, falls out and the camera zooms right on up to this poor guy's hole which is, like, all red and you can see his intestines and the hole alternately squeezes shut to a cat's bum-esque pin, and then yawns really wide once again as cum and assorted lube trickles out? Yeah, that's like my assignment. Sigh. I'm even whipping out an MLA handbook to fix up some queries re: my bibliography. Which, yes. How dedicated am I? For those who don't have to use MLA -- YOU ARE FUCKING LUCKY. Grumble.

But the end is in sight, I suppose. Well, if I pass everything. Which I frigging well better considering all this work I'm doing. I have been completely neglecting my stack of magazines, and I haven't had time to tan at all. I am seriously translucent. My painstakingly created tan-line on my butt is gone forever! Sob. Although, I'm trying to wrangle a celebratory trip to Mauritius, which would make me feel a lot better. I'm in quite a beach-y mode for some reason. Like, I live in Australia, spend half the week on one of it's most popular beaches, own a house on another beach, and yet I'm not satisfied! I know Australian beaches are nice and stuff (no ground up shells/rocks for sand, actual waves, etc.) but they are quite boring. Too many tourists and not enough underpaid workers to worship you and make you feel welcome and so on. I've ruled out going to Bali and Thailand and those places -- dirty, cheap, and gross. And you get arrested or blown up -- so that leaves the slightly more upmarket destinations. I can't wait to get my ass on that beach; vodka and lemon in my hair and in my glass... mmm.

But until then, I have to "knuckle down" and do more work. But I might go to uni via David Jones or something. I am quite desperate for new underwear. I can't possibly work with threadbare jocks. I bet Foucault and Gramsci thought the same. Well, Foucault died of AIDS, so I'm sure of it. Those poofs and their underwear fixation.