non-specific, generic rant... rant, rant...
actually...
no, i shall be specific. i dare say i shall be celebrating my birthday playing minesweeper, for hours, and waiting for it to be late enough for me to have a glass of wine and then be too drunk to stay up. rant, rant. i was going to orgainse a birthday party (in a pub), but no-one will turn up, and i'll be even more depressed than i already am (been slithering down the slope since october - end of november saw the final straw). it's bloody horrible when no-one gives enough of a toss about you to bother celebrating your birthday. i was going to do some retail therapy, but that involves going out of the house, and so probably won't happen.
whinge, whinge, moan, moan.
as if christmas wasn't bad enough to contend with... come on, neuroman, let's be the miserable birthday bastards. december the 28th is the feast of the holy innocents. i vote we change it to the Feast of the Holy Terrors.
sometimes, i really hate everyone and everything. including me.
dear me - a glass of wine was obviously a bad idea...