*crawls out of a crusty hole in the ground* Hi everyone! I bought Sims Generations a few days ago and have now developed the beginnings of a blister where my mouse hand rubs against the table. I shit you not. I would be playing it constantly but I have to stop to take inconvienient naps and pour bowls of sugar puffs. I remember when I first got Sims3 and would play it before work, count down the hours during my shift and run up the last flight of stairs to get home faster and turn my computer on again. I think this addiction returns with force when my real life isn't so hot, and so the virtual lives of my sims become so much more appealing and managable.
I have a wooof placement booked for September on the Isle of Mann but I'm so worried they're going to send me home after a fortnight for being so out of shape. I want to be moulded in to a real person with work ethic and physical staminia but I can't see that happening until once I'm there, and what if once I'm there I don't last long enough to be moulded? *worry*
I made my sister a unicorn cake for her birthday (pics to follow) and she showed a picture of it to a work colleuge who commissioned a lego man cake for her son's eigth birthday! It's to be ready by the 13th and I'm still missing a few things. I'm going to head to the Cake Guru tomorrow to pick them up so I can get started.
For a while I went through a phase of wishing I had doting servents who could, say, bring my my juice if I sat down to my meal and had forgotten to fetch it. Then I realised I wouldn't feel comfortable ordering them about to do these kinds of tasks, and would fret over if they wanted to be there and what they thought of me. So today I came to the conclusion that I'd much sooner have a house elf. Most house elves are thrilled to serve their masters and they take great pleasure in it, Dobby being an exception (R.I.P) So I had a lil' elf I could say "plug in my massage chair, I don't want to get up to do it." or "put on a delicates wash so I have pants for tomorrow" and "here's 50p, run to the garage and get me a pack of McCoys salt and vinigar". It would be awesome.
What is not awesome is that my dad's started drinking again, even through the doctor's warned him he has to get his cholestrol down. In fact, he may be drinking partly because he's so worried about that. I want to tell him there's no point in going for jogs and switching to half-fat milk is he's going to binge drink three times a week. I don't know, I've googled what to do so many times but British families run on never saying what you're really feeling, especially if it's important. I can't imagine us all sitting down to an intervention and then shipping him off to rehab. Realistically, how guilty does it make me if I just don't intervene and his health keeps deterorating? I called him on it once, when it was just the two of us in the house and he kept going back and forth to the garage for top ups and he told me 'I'll try', which he does, but then inevitably fails. He was T-total for years at one point until I noticed he drank champagne on my eighteenth birthday. I remember taking yucky-tasting sips from his beer can when I was little.
The end! It's 2.45. I always want to stay up late until like 5am when I think 'I'll just close my eyes for ten minutes' and then wake up at 2pm like 'DAMMIT!'