want to see my impression of ghandi?

Kicking this leprechaun will bring me good luck.

After a fantabulous week in Newcastle, I had a horrendous week of hell in Melbourne. I think I will refer to this month as 'Darth October' from now on.

Darth October began when I decided that I need to inject more of the bacchanalian into my life. This translated into discovering just how drunk I could make myself. I did this by ignoring that little voice that says "Woah. You better slow down on the libations my red-haired friend." I have since discovered that this voice has a name: 'Common Sense.'

My memory is hazy, but I nearly got into a fight with a leninist, lost my Justin Timberlake CD, lost the jumper that Peter gave me and snogged one of the ideological opposition in a very public manner. As much as I'd love to share the entirety of the saga with you, for reasons of tact I can't.

I felt very ill for days afterwards, and my housemate diagnosed me with a mild alcohol poisoning. I spent the next week on the couch, cringing every time I thought about my actions. I thought about travelling back through time, Bill and Ted style, to undo all the damage I'd done.

It was mostly downhill from there. That freelance job fell through, too.

Worse still, I've been drafted into Intensive Assistance. Not only will I be compelled to go to Work for the Dole, but I'll also be forced to look for jobs, attend CV writing classes and all kinds of shit under strict supervision. Apparently I have to do both programs concurrently, as it is a mandatory part of Mutual Obligation. I have to confirm that, though.

I know, I know. I just used a whole bunch of Centrelink jargon that makes no sense unless you're actually in the system.

Well, that's it. They've broken me. I'm going to start looking for work.

In the month of Darth October, this is known as being 'Qui Gon Jinned.'