"This insanity is brought to you by Fishy Joe's! Try our new Extreme Walrus Juice! 100% fresh-squeezed walrus. Ride the walrus!"

I worry about everything. I try not to, but I do. (Between me and you - it's fucking annoying.)

We're suppose to tell the others on our Hotel & Restaurant Management-program about "internal marketing". Take away the fact that this is completely useless because it's just a way for us to do the teachers' jobs, and the fact that it's suppose to be a group presentation. Then add the fact that I, until about an hour ago, had about six rows of a fake powerpoint presentation. I hate groupwork. I don't mind teamwork, but doing a job in a group where "I do this part, and you do that part and we don't read each other's parts and then we'll be all surprised when we're saying the same thing, oh my god!" is just stupid. Anyway, I went to sleep and then I started thinking. Just thinking about internal marketing and what it means to me and how to actually make it work. The more I thought about it, the more I could see my presentation taking form - now I have about one computer written page in size 16, which of course isn't all that much, but compared to six rows it's a darn good job! I'm repeating myself a bit in there though, but I think I can make it - after all, repeating stuff is what makes it stick in the head.

I'd really love to write a fantasy story. An epic tale of horrors and adventures and mysteries. The only problem is that I don't really possess the kind of fantasy such a work would require. I'm so happy in this world that I can't come up with another that's completely different. It annoys me. I should, with my insane brain and sick imagination, be able to come up with the most wondrous tales, but no. Until this change, and I get the Nobel Prize for first fantasy writer ever, you'll just have to live with this kind of writing. It's not much, but I hope it can at least put a smile on your face when you feel shitty. I know it does on mine to write it.