Fife and I must be finished

Fife hasn’t called me and now I’m angry. Proper angry. I guess this is us finished. Fuck him and his stupid living situation. God I’m depressed. I’ve fucked up another relationship. Plus, I’m really starting to shit bricks about going to MNM tomorrow. What am I going to say to HP? I haven’t seen him since I kicked him out of my flat. And it’s such a small office, so it’s not like I won’t see him. (I realise that I am totally worrying about the wrong thing, and I should be focusing on the pitch, but I can’t stop thinking about seeing HP.)

HarryPotter, if you’re reading this, be friendly to me tomorrow. And, as I’ve said before on the blog, I’m really sorry I acted like such a shit last February. I totally should have listened to your side of the story. Although you could have been less of a tit about it. You could have been more forthcoming. But that aside, I’m sorry.

I can’t believe Fife hasn’t called me. What a fucking tool. Right, I’ve wheeled the telly into the bedroom, so I an watch telly from bed in my abject misery. Although, I don’t have an antena in there, so don’t really know if it will work.


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