To- Anyone Suffering in Silence.

Just pretend you're a ninja on a secret mission!
It gives you oodles of confidence!

Love, Rebekah.
x

P.S. One day, when I haven't got exams coming up, and my laptop isn't being frustratingly slow, I'll touch this picture up and maybe make it even, which I really couldn't be bothered to do tonight.

To- Everyone that read that last post.

My Brain and I really did intend on going to the library.

Right up until I woke up and felt like someone had bashed my head a few times in the very limited time I spent sleeping.
So no, I'm not in the library. I'm in bed, I've just taken more paracetamol, and I have textbooks with me, just have to find the eye strength to read them now.

Love, Rebekah.
x

To- My Brain (that still isn't in study mode!)

That's it!!
Tomorrow, we're going to the library.
Just you and me.
And we're doing work.
And we'll go in daggy clothes and not care what people think.
And we'll accomplish stuff!!
And we'll get a latte, just for the other blog.

Now go to sleep!
You need to get your circadian rhythm into a reasonable pattern before exams start!!

Goodnight, Brain.

Love, Rebekah.
x

To- My Assessment Due Tomorrow.

It's nothing personal...
Okay, maybe it is.
But it doesn't have to be like this!
I'd be more than willing to complete you, if only you were a little more compelling in your argument!
So far as I can see, I'm getting much more out of emptying my clothes from their drawers, and then folding them neatly into little piles, and replacing in the drawers according to weather suitability.

But on second thoughts, the whole fact that you're worth 20% of my grade this semester is a pretty valid point.
Oh, and only 49 hours to complete you in?

Alright, attention gained.
Nice doing business with you.

Love, Rebekah.
x

To- My Black Shoes.

Way to let all the rain in.
My feet weren't that in need of a wash.
Desperate times then called for desperate drying measures.
Yup, the hair dryer.

Hope you enjoyed the clean out. :)
Love, Rebekah.
x

To- My Left Earlobe.

Get over it.
The earring is staying in there.
Until tomorrow night, when I play netball, but after that it's staying in!
Until I get my car fixed and can drive to the shops and buy some studs.
After that, it's staying in.
So you can just get over being swollen and throbbing and red and hot and oozy and just get used to it already.

Love, Rebekah
x

To- The Guy running up the hill...

Thanks for 'gidday'-ing me.
It made my day.
Who would've thought that's all it takes.

Also, sorry for probably having a sour expression plastered all over my face. Not having the best day. But you certainly made it better!

I hope you're having a happy day.
Love, Rebekah.
x

To- Home.

I miss you.

Love, Rebekah.
x

To- My Peanut Butter!

Come Back!

Love! Rebekah.
x

To- My Dumb Car.

I hate you. I really do. I have a pit in the bottom of my stomach, and in it brews a deep loathing which I frequently exercise on you. Please note: you bring it on yourself. If you didn't keep stuffing up and having various bits and pieces ceasing functioning all over the place and needing fixing or replacing, we could probably have a rather peaceful relationship going on.
I'm afraid to day might be the last straw. It's only partially because you won't even start for me, let alone give me so much as a clue as to what is wrong with you. It's mostly because it's cold and wet and since you refuse to start I have to walk up a hill at 8.00pm tonight to get to my netball game. And then, I have to walk home after it.
I hope you're happy. I hope you like ruining my life, because right now, I'm thinking of ruining yours. If you cost so much as a dollar over $100 to get you up and running, it'll be off to the wrecking yard. I hope they allow me to sit by and watch and do NOTHING, because quite frankly that's all you've done to me over the last year and a bit I've owned you.
I'm sorry it has to end like this.
But I hope you know it's entirely your fault.
I don't even drive like a hoon.
Love (or rather hate, as the case may be), Rebekah.
x

To- The Lady in The Kitchen

Yes, you. The lady who slopped my already not particularly nice looking food into a plastic container and effectively made it look worse. I mean; really. I understand how annoying it must be. There's got to be over a thousand dinners that you get to slop into plastic boxes or onto worn and wearied plates, but just once in a while, I think you should approach it with an artistic view, over your (I can't help but feel) prevalent I-just-want-to-get-out-of-here-quickly view. It's not doing anyone any favours! On a lighter note, dinner tonight was pretty okay. Kudos on the peas- they're my favourite.
Love, Rebekah (you might know me as 454).
x