Back in the day when I was young and reckless (2009, what up), I used to natter on about the Universe's sense of humour. I had a bit of a theory that the shit that happened to me was possibly because the Universe was 'avin' a bit of a larf wiv me.
For example, I ended up living in a student house that resembled a swamp in a junkyard more than a home, with four digsmates who gave me all the experience I needed to work with children.
The Universe was like, LOLZIES, you wanted a lounge? Here, have one with mould and a leaky roof! Did you ask for a garden? BWAHAHA here's some shrubs with a complimentary pack of thieves and security measures that could be broken by a child - and they will be! Ha! Have some panic attacks with your stressload bitch!
(This year may always be remembered with quite a lot of bitterness, although I did make the sweet discovery of Hitec Security guards and their glistening bullet-proof vests. Oh touch me.)
Today I'm sitting in my roof-level room in this four-story house of old memories and ripped hearts, wondering if the Universe wants to screw with me yet again.
Here, you wanted a Mr Heart Surgeon with two cute kids and a matching surgeon wife?
BAM, fool, have a man who slaps his wife, two kids who read Divorce: a story for children, and an unstable, unemployed wreck of a woman.
Dear Universe, maybe you noticed I was having a bit of writer's block last year. Thought you could sort that out, eh?
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