One week.

Spent the morning in hospital capping off a lovely week in Wollongong.

In Sydney dates were had, friends were made, girls were lost and found. Lines were had with bands in bathrobes. Oxford Arts cost five dollars and a friend of friend died.

I've got a season of 30 Rock and a season of How I Met Your Mother and three days to watch them in.

I want to go home.

I want to go home I want to go home. I had a gigantic steroid injection this morning that made me feel like I was floating twenty metres above my own corpse, and now I feel slightly better but also slightly off my face.

Of course this all had to happen on one of the biggest weekends of the year. I just want to go and watch movies and chill out and have coffee because even the most boring days in Sydney are the most amazing adventures compared to this place. I realised this last year; Wollongong isn't good for me. It does bad things.

In other news I'm gonna be here for at least another two weeks.

Ill.

I am sick. Really sick. I have glandular fever and chronic fatigue. Best of all, looks like I've given it to everyone I made out with on Saturday night, and a couple people more. Sorry everyone.

I want this.

http://www.youreyeslie.com/mens-scoop-tailored-tshirt-beauty-5.html

Free shipping on orders over 50 pounds (want anything girls?)

You're beautiful but I'm not.

Fuck "the greatest thing you'll ever learn".

Fuck it.

Tonight I went to Terrigal with Declan.

It was fucking awful so we left very quickly to come home.

I spent all my money on train fares and taxis, got depressed, then got egged on the way home.

Fuck.

Where country decay meets urban despair.

I want to go home.

Whinge.

There's nothing more depressing than hanging out with models, especially when you're not one.

And then coming home to find those streetwalker pictures that got taken of you make you look like Five-Chins McGee.

And then finding out the ones of Declan are amazing.