So here I am once again, I find myself fit to burst with so many things to do, I'm wholly suprised I don't have a heart attack and drop down dead.

Every time I try and write my work, my puppy Archibald William Charles Ready [yes, I really did name him that; Archie for short], want to play or my Mum yells for me to do one of the things she should be able to do.

I'm getting laser eye surgery on the 2nd December, slightly worried about that and my Uni never seems to tell me anything until four days before it had to be handed in. So I'm constantly stressed out with work, life, the Mr [I swear I could murder him sometimes].

Rant over.

dX