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Monday 17th May 1999

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There’s only a month till my birthday – better read my WISHLIST

Since we don’t have an exam in radio production, and I’ve only got one assignment left in that class and it’s writing a commercial, I decided not to go to my lecture today. That was choice cos it meant I got to sleep in. What wasn’t so choice was getting up to find Leyton in the bathroom, door wide open, only wearing a towel. Grrrrr. Not a nice way to start the day.

I took the bus into town one stage before realising that I’d left my cellphone at home, so I got off the bus and walked back to my house to get it. I know that sounds like extreme, but I was kinda expecting my friend to ring me on it to tell me he wouldn’t be able to meet up with me after all , so I figured I needed it. Then when I was waiting for the bus again, this old guy decided he needed to take a rest from his walk up to the vege shop, sit on my bench and talk to me. He was Shrilankan and he didn’t like New Zealand – possibly because there were too many Chinese, although I could hardly understand him. His wife died two years ago. Luckily a bus came then. I was late for TV Prod, but the class started late anyways, so I was fine.

Our guest tutor was John Barnett, the owner of South Pacific Pictures, the company responsible for producing Shortland Street. He spent about half an hour trying to excuse City Life. I found that amusing.

We all (well, some of my friends anyways) went down to Wendys at lunchtime, and Kate M and I spent the hour trying to explain the concept of maturity vs ages to Derek. It was quite amusing. And meant he paused in seranading us with Boyzone for a few minutes.

PR was delivered by Joseph, who spent most of the time plugging his book, and name-dropping. Boooooooring! He was so obscure, and shoved in all these totally irrelevant video clips – like some Danny De Vito movie even. sux0rs alright!

Um. I stood on the bridge over Wellesley Street for a while, feeling it vibrate with the passing traffic. That was kind of cool. Walking back up Wellesley Street later on crying wasn’t so cool, and the mascara stains on my pillows aren’t cool either. Neither is stuff currently going on in my life. How can I give up someone that I care about so much? I don’t want to let go. But I don’t know if I’ll be given much of a choice. I shouldn’t be talking about this here, but it’s so important to me right now, it wouldn’t be right to leave it out of my journal.

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