You’re like a dose of scabies, 
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale… Grimm.

People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

My personal life is taking over everything right now and I can’t seem to focus on anything else apart from that, which is seriously affecting every other aspect of my life. I have a stack of work to finish, emails to reply to, jobs to look for. I took one moment out of my time to write a letter for someone who decided that he was “too busy to read it” but can go out and get absolutely annihilated instead. Huh, gratitude for you, eh? 

I’ll be around more in the next few weeks for those few worried people who were wondering if I’m okay (which is seriously appreciated because I think I’m losing the plot and it’s nice to know at least the odd few are curious as to the whereabouts of the elusive Maisie). Anyone fancy taking me on holiday? Mojitos and steaks on me. 

Waaaaah, hungover. Saturday night consisted of playing Scrabble and drinking Mojitos, then an influx of seventeen year old drug mules (one of whom was my art teacher from high school’s son) invaded the house. Despite that, it was pretty fun. I was up until six drinking Sailor Jerry’s and orangeade (not the greatest compliment to rum but it was a spontaneous session) along with this absolutely incredible cocktail Stewart made on the spot and a decanter full of Tequila Sunrise. I’m hiring him to be my personal cocktail maker for house parties, not that he isn’t already. 

I wasn’t kidding. It started as a serious game but apparently our vocabularies disregard every word that isn’t a profanity or an insult when we’re drunk. 

More nights like this pl0x.