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26 July 2012 @ 10:08 pm
Hey, Wicked Smart,  
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   You sound a bit like my daughter. I bet you know why you're here, and that you do want an answer. I'd say you know your own mind. I don't think you'd let yourself wink out of existence if the right person called on you, either. You don't outgrow your family without suffering and learning a thing or two, am I right? But don't go doing anything because of me. I've already winked out. Should never've winked in in the first place.
   And hey, anyway, you probably should count yourself lucky you're not the youngest of six and the only boy who got left with the hand-me-downs!
   Pleasing your parents -or anyone else- isn't what it's cracked up to be, either. Shame a person has to get to my age to learn that, but there you go. Speaking of which, I should probably button my lip or someone -you, even- might think I'm some sort of- Well... You just would, wouldn't you.
   Ignore me. Bit of an introvert myself, but I do have a bloody inconvenient tendency to forget why once I've a few pints under my belt. It's just, you sounded like... I don't know. Must've drawn a short straw to've ended up with me being the only one to speak to you anyway. I'm not being negatve, there; I just mean...
   Forget it, it's just, you know... Pints. Belt. No dinner. That whole thing.
   Only over here it's 'tea'; no one says dinner, or supper, or chip butties, or I'm just nicking down the village for a lager. No. No; see? Even that; it's 'nuh', like they've said 'nut' but forgotten the t. It's all nuh and g'day and g'donya and everything's 'Strayyun as, yeh? Pronounce anything properly and they get all offended, like you're just trying to be smart and show them up or something. They correct the way I say my own name, for Christ's sake. I've been here virtually my entire life, and I've tried to fit in just to feel less noticeable and bloody self-conscious, but that accent is about as comfortable as trying to swallow your own tongue. I just end up making even more of a fool of myself. Then you get "Whyn't ya go back where ya came from, cobba", and I think 'This is where I came from, you dickhead, but it was a bunch of you lot who sold me to a family of Poms overseas!'
   Stupid bloody accent anyway. And I'm not posh and superior at all -I mean posh, wrong part of the country for that, Mate- it's just I cannot speak like there's no punctuation or spaces between words and someone's put my tongue in a splint!
   Right, this is ridiculous. Sorry, Wicked Smart. Bit of a bad day and I'm moody, apparently. Crabby. Agro. Narky. Snappy bloody Tom. Sorry, don't mind me, I'm full of it. I'll shut up and get on with it. Nother pint and I'm off out of here anyway. If I can find a taxi who'll stop for me this end of the CBD -already missed my bus. I mean it's a lap top; I'm not going to blow anything up or bludgeon someone to death with it, no matter what colour they think I look. Daft buggers. Could probably do with a good bludgeoning, anyway.