I don't know how bad this evening's going to be. I'm holding out for a hero to save it for me (however unheroesque a figure he may generally cut) but this may not happen.
~sigh~ Something interesting could have happened today, but obviously, y'know, alcohol and men, yay. So I'm holed up in her room thinking about deciding never to come back to Cambridge. Heh.
And a curse on all these idiots who don't bother explaining their reasons for things to me. If you explained, we could talk. I could explain that you're *wrong*, or at least set about trying to convince you, and then maybe things would be less generally bad. But that would of course involve you not being idiots.
Sigh. One of those days I'd love to finish with someone drawing lines on me with sharp things that's actually going to finish with me in tears on a sofabed. Again.