I feel like
I am in rehab and not allowed out until it’s safe for me, or the general public
at large. I have been pacing around the
cocking house all day like a caged tiger.
I am waiting to hear back about my refund. I think the mention of my (imaginary) lawyer
(called Ross. See Taylor , I knew you’d come in handy
eventually) has made them shit themselves.
When I told her I had a lawyer she almost turned white, which is quite a
feat for an Indian lady. They think I am
a big hot shot (mainly cause that’s what I told them) back home. Little do they know that not only am I not a
big shot, in fact I am officially an unemployed bum.
I can’t
imagine that anything will happen quickly, but if I were them I would want to
see the back of me, quick smart. We have
daily team meetings and it’s like the Kate Breed show. I even bore myself. I am so troublesome (I know. You’re all shocked aren’t you?). I blame Dad.
He is the most militant fucker I know.
Like father, like daughter. Well
at least I hope so, cause as it happen,s my old man is the best bloke on the face
of the planet. I love you, Pop.
I’ve been
told that I won’t get my money back for a month so for the next month I am
going to have to be really careful. I am
told that it is super cheap in Goa so I’ll
hold off on the arse selling (for now). I’m not even sure how much I’d get for it
anyway. I haven’t been to the gym for
ages so unless they like the Beyonce look I am dead in the water.
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