I've noticed I've been trailing off alot lately. 'tis the curse of the inconclusive sentences of Clare Brant. I think her's was a bit more sinister like though, mine's just...ummm...tired? tragic? I-can't-really-give-a-shiKt-to-finish-what-I've-started-saying-coz-it-will-amount-to-naught-any-way...like? It doesn't really... sigh.

See.

I just cut my foot on the futon and can't be faffed to tend to it, so Huden is trying to stick a bandage on me while i write this.
Huden: Elest, you're not lady-like at all!
Daoud: yeah you should be like, 'oww, help, assist me!' (in a squeaky voice. I'm capable of squeeking. I can suddenly squeek the living day-lights out of people.)

Elle est stoned, is not really stoned, but she is failing her course! WOOOHOO! 'twill be fine. It's not as bad as some things, and I've already started feeling good about it. Resignation becomes me. Shrugging ones shoulders doesn't require saying much.