My Hed Iz... you know the rest.

Why am I a magnet for Photoshop abuse?
Mum's just dropped a half-album of photos on me - all scratched, ripped and 100 years old - to be fixed up. All I could do not to yell "my hed iz pastede on yay" - though I came close on one of the pictures.
A pro would get paid a tenner an hour to do this. I get nada, when mum says I'm as good as the pros. < /blowowntrumpet > (Hardly likely.) At the very least, I could get chocolate.

I have an essay to write, goddammit. (Courtesy of Mr. You All Suck Wah Wah Wah!!!11!!)
I stayed home when the rest of my class are working their way round our town's many bars. When there was an extra karate night with an actual good tutor. When... ah, that's it.

Also, dad's work has been sent a Your Perfect Job email. Meme. Thing.
Put in my name and got "Superhero". (I need to show my Marvel-obsessed classmate.)
Address here as soon as I can.

Got a moron reviewer off ff.net moaning that I haven't updated my story in six months. Sorry, mate, but I didn't have any way of telling you. Especially seeings you were an anonymouse first time reviewer. If you'd reviewed beforehand, I'd allow you some grousing room. But not for someone I don't know from Adam. Or Ridley.
Still, at least it kicked me into thinking storywise again... saturnprincess, you rock. Thanks for filling in the last piece of the jigsaw. Maybe the thing'll get finished.^^