It’s too fuckin’ hot here. No wonder the locals are all bloody miserable.
I miss my superwine biscuits, and tea. The bastard I’m living with is a lazy son of a *****, who continues to avoid doing his fair share of work – his fuckin’ room makes me sick. I suppose the locals are nice enough though. Aside from the questions about my accent that is.
*sigh* Here I am, cleaning up the mess made by someone else. Were it not for my mild(ish) OCD, this house would remain a radioactive wasteland. Bastard…
I have my GTFO fund in case my compensation ends and I still have no job, since Kiwis are treated worse than refugees over here. I just *love* how our governments keep talking up that whole ANZAC spirit bullshit when we all know that it hasn’t meant shit since 1915. So, in saying that, this will more than likely end up being an extended holiday – then I can return home and die afterwards without anyone knowing I even went back.
To the post office tomorrow morning, so I can get this tax file number sorted out. I’ll only need to get my ID card after that, then I should be good to go regarding employment opportunities. But otherwise… it’s just gonna be another lonely day at home.
I suppose I’d best get the surrounds squared away tomorrow, after I’ve done my wind sprints that is.
Take it easy, team.