Fuck

The essay is all I have been doing for days.  It is only a small 100 level thing, but I just can't get it to happen.
Fever brain.
Tiredness.
No fucks left in me.
I just can't get things to happen.  Though research readings today left me with an even lower opinion of Keith Holyoake.

And all the coughing and sneezing has done a number on my lips.  Am now just destroying chapstick trying to keep them from cracking.  I also had to moisturise my nostrils with almond oil to keep them from being overly painful.

Then my dinner I ordered yesterday for tonight arrived.  And the Speight's Ale House had sent me cold ribs.
I took to facebook to complain while I ate the deliciously hot chips and crisp salad.  And harassed the girlfriend of one of the kitchen staff on messenger while I ate the deliciously warm mudcake.

On the advice of a friend who is much smarter than I am I did the aggressively unPakeha thing of complaining to the actual restaurant instead of just bitching about it on facebook. The manager who rang commented that guys in the kitchen knew who I was - which makes me feel like I was being super petty to complain.

I should not have ordered from Shitlord's workplace.

After 40minutes in my oven (set to 200C, but without preheating) the ribs were pretty good, if not quite heated properly in the middle - should have waited a bit longer.  The manager said they were precooked regardless, and it all tasted pretty good.  But would have much preferred if things had just arrived warm.  Also sounds like I am the first one to complain.  Hopefully it means I was the first fuckup. I might just choose to believe that Shitlord did it on purpose, but I mostly doubt he even remembers I exist.

Damn it, I have written more here than I have in my essay today.  I am seriously screwed.