10 signs you had a big night last night.

1. You have mysterious cuts and bruises that appear to have come from that spiky bush you decided to wee in.
2. There are more empties on the floor of the car than there is carpet.
3. You think you might have used the phrase 'I love you maaaan' more than is usually appropriate.
4. You only have one shoe.
5. Your mouth feels like something died in it, possibly a spring lamb or two.
6. You can't form a sentence. For three days.
7. You're voice is hoarse from singing along to November Rain, Sweet Child of Mine and Paradise City at least four times each.
8. One of your mates is still asleep on the lawn, snoring like an animal giving birth to a chair.
9. There are at least 10 half-remembered incidents that need to be put in order like a surrealist jigsaw involving wineries, sheep, pub-dwelling bogans and hot dudes with maori tattoos.
10. There's a wizened, toothless she-drunk with bad hair in your bed. You freak out until you realise you're looking in a mirror. Then freak out again.

Who wants cake?

Thanks to Canadian TV show Strangers With Candy, I know that anyone could secretly be a retard. And that they're just like everyone else, and may or may not be gay.
I have some great retarded moments. This morning, I struggled with the English word for tea towel for about three minutes... while making wierd gurgling noises. That wouldn't be as sad if English wasn't my native language. I blame it on an insufficient supply of instant coffee.

At netball the other day I had another one. In netball, you're not allowed to swear, take more than one step, or throw the ball to yourself (I think). That's why I was pretty proud of myself for catching the ball, dropping it, picking it up again, trying to throw it to someone in front of me and actually chucking it backwards between my knees. Swearing. While stumbling backwards.

I feel like the more I do on my PhD, the less I can function in daily life. I feel like my academic IQ may be getting higher, but my IQ all the rest of the time is dropping faster than Debbie's dacks in Dallas. So to speak. Maybe its going to be a bit like Flowers for Algernon, where the newly genius scientist acutally discovers his own mental disintegration. Anyway, I'm off to get some cake now.

PS Ryan, if you're reading this, I'm still working on your birthday present and you're going to love it.