Why I do what I do

Despite an apparent increase in readership (thank you folks for reading!), I'm afraid this blog is going to fail to contribute greatly to fruitful discussion or bringing about world peace (glad someone at least has that all figured out).

Until I finish my final project at least (all about free culture and creativity and art and y'know, stuff) I might find this an especially convenient place to rant. (Let's call it 'documenting the thought process.')

With every meeting with my tutor, and visions of failure and doom related and unrelated to this, an important question comes up.

Why am I doing this?

Because.

Please don't tell the Prof.

Bloody Fire Alarms! Burn! Burn!

00:35

It's been a long day. So shoot me for wanting a bit of peace and quiet before I put on my jammies and crash for the night.

I said shoot me. Not blow my head to bits with the incessant shrieking of six minute fire alarms every five minutes.

(Make it stop, plEAse!!!)

Where's the fire I ask you?

Nobody uses the kitchens to cook anyway - at least not since they were turned into refugee camps thanks to renovations that have lasted long enough for the new table tops to have fossilised food. (Oh and the smell. The smell of paint and turpentine. Moan-groan-grumble-sob.)

Let them alarms cry wolf just once more tonight and I'll give them a fire.

Only blogging etiquette has held me back from POSTING THIS IN ALL CAPS but make no mistake, I am screaming and whining and swearing and making rude hand gestures.

What's a girl got to do to lead a fire-alarm free existence in student housing? - I ask in great consternation.

.....

Oh yea - Move Out.