Don't worry about the title, it's got nothing to do with this entry. (Ba dum tish). Right then, now for a long-winded and inconclusive blog entry about me and my sad, dull life.
Everything is pissing me off this month. Everything. I expected this to happen, I am, after all, going through puberty. So this means trivial irritants are really getting on my tits. Like my laptop's mousepad; whenever I'm typing, my thumb inadvertantly touches the pad causing it to click the mouse which stops me from typing whatever I'm trying to type. I tried to combat this by attaching a USB mouse, which I thought would render the enfuriating mousepad useless. Nope. Then there's the fact that Facebook keeps raping the CPU causing everything to freeze for a few seconds; this wouldn't be too bad if it didn't happen every two minutes, and I seem to be getting the cream of the incompetent bus drivers this week. This not helped by the fact that the road network near to where I live in Birmingham is so fucking awkward that there are two bus stops literally within a hundred yards of each other. One of which I have to get off at. So I press the stop button at the first stop which leaves me a total of ten seconds to get up, stagger down the stairs as the shitclown driver swerves past yet another horrendously parked hatchback at 40mph and get to the front by the driver as he overshoots the fucking stop again. This means I have to get off at the next stop which is down a motherfucker of a hill (as is the norm in Bartley Green).
I genuinely worry about the increasing incompetence of the people who Travel West Midlands allow to control 25 tonne, 10ft high vehicles full of people. As soon as you get onto a bus in Birmingham, you have 5 seconds to sit the fuck down before the driver finds a kerb to mount or something, and bus drivers don't seem to understand the concept of braking distance, they just wait until they're about 50 yards away from where they want to stop and then they jump on the brakes forcing everyone and everything not sat down or bolted to something to lurch forward colliding with either a metal bar or an overtly hostile Brummie.
College is going quite well, though. Except photography. I don't like the teacher, who constantly reminds everyone that they're probably going to fail. She designed a shite course, aswell, with an imperial cockton of sketchbook work and artist research with barely any actual photography. As far as I'm concerned she can go tackle a band saw.
I need a shit...