I realised tonight, as I sat rubbing ibruprofen gel into my knee joint, that I am, infact, exhasted. This years' festival is taking its toll on me. I'm in my flat and awake on average 3 hours a day. I get to spend next to no time with Dave (my other half) or our guinea pigs and when I'm at home I have endless lists of things to do. I am so bloody sick of cleaning up after my pigs of flatmates, I'm not their damn mother! But, anyway, I'm not sleeping, I'm surviving on sandwiches and in general it's not doing me any good. I'm looking forward to September when we're out of the country, allbeit for a short time, so that I can leave all this crap behind...
Sorry for the horribly depressive nature of this post guys.
Take care!
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