Did I tell you I'm leaving?
Well I am.
So long bitches!
K, I'm not leaving just yet. There is two weeks and five days to go.
Still, TWO WEEKS AND FIVE DAYS!
How long is it till you begin the first day of the rest of your life?
That's what I thought.
If you couldn't tell... I'm excited, aggressively so. This is part to do with the fact that
a: I'm finally getting out of my home town which, despite what you think mum, really is boring for somebody my age. No cute available guys, or interesting/cool entertainment. Why did I stay so long?
b: I'm tired. Cranky pants force me to wear them in the morning. How can I say no when I so easily succumb to pressure? Tell me!
c: I still have things to organise, eg, money, get camera off layby and licenses (snoozemania... except the camera part)
d: I only have three working days left to work at my current work place.
aaand
e: I have no idea whats going to happen when I get there!!!
I intend to live and work in Europe for a year. Just because this is what I plan to do. I also plan to do my absolute best and make the most out of it.
Cause I mean, lets face it, there is no point in going over there and crying like a little bitch because I've bitten off more than I can chew. Yeah, this may be a big fuck off bite out of a big fuck off sandwich...
But hey! gosh darn it, I'm going to swallow that mother and wash it down with a cup of steamy hot awesomeness. Yeah!
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