
https://memestatic2.fjcdn.com/thumbnails/comments/Evilkingganon+used+roll+pictureevilkingganon+rolled+image+theyre+brothers+so+_6b1122a40ae72cdf168fd01629e57b6e.jpg
No, but you see, Layla can’t move out. I went to see my tarot reader, and he said that this relationship would end in total disaster. Now they’re getting married, which is total disaster for me, so that turned out to be correct. I went to visit him again recently and told him everything that had happened, and he said…that I needed to stop the wedding. Because if they go through with it, Layla and Pete are going to go on a honeymoon and it’d going to be interrupted by a pack of wild wallabies, so I must stop this at all costs. Thus causing Layla to continue living with me. Tragic, but it’s for everyone’s good in the end.
I cannot tell you how many conveyancers I’ve visited in the last few days. Did you know there are multiple conveyancing solicitors in Sandringham alone? I never even knew that conveyancing was a thing until like last week when Layla said she was getting their help with some…property thing. THE property thing. The property thing that means she’ll be ‘conveying’ herself out of the house, leaving me high and dry and having to find a new housemate while she lives it up in wedded bliss. Ugh, disgusting.
I mean…wonderful. And I feel terrible having to visit all these conveyancers. I don’t mean to waste their time, really. I bet they have just so much conveying to do. Many title transfers…a great deal of glancing over the sale of land act 1962, which I just looked up because I care that much as a friend. I’ll make it up to the conveyancers. You better believe that when it comes time for me to move, I’ll be visiting every conveyancing office in St Kilda to the other places that aren’t Melbourne. Yep, plenty of custom, all for the conveyancers, because it’s not like this is their fault.
I mean…it’s nobody’s fault. Layla simply cannot move out, and into this bigger house with her husband-to-be, because…wallabies. And I’ve seen her conveyancing paperwork, too. Definitely a few subsections that she needs to inspect more closely.
-Denise, Denise
My dad’s friend, Jeffrey, came over for dinner last night. I hadn’t been aware of this, but he’s been in hospital receiving treatment for decompression illness, which he acquired while scuba diving. I won’t go into the details of that, but something that interested me in his rundown of events was the use of a certain kind of oxygen therapy by the hospital in treating the condition. 
If I’m going to save up for that holiday, I need to think seriously about saving. Not just saving as in ‘oh, I might buy rump steak instead of t-bone’. No, I’m talking real, concerted efforts to cut down on the dollars.
It has come to my attention that my room is boring. I’m not sure why I’ve let this go on for so long, but I’m citing business. Hey, I have my hands full lot of the time. But all my walls are white and bare and it’s finally getting to me. I’m a teenager; I feel the need to cover them in pictures of cars and motorbikes and rock bands with obscenely large amounts of colour.
They say that if you don’t like the weather in Melbourne, wait fifteen minutes. That seems all too true at times. I mean, it’s still summer – arguably, midsummer – and I’m wearing a jumper and carrying an umbrella. Just a couple of days ago, it was serious bushfire weather, with a bit of crazy lightning thrown in the mix for extra fun. Which brings me to my point, which is that the building I work in could really do with tinted windows.
It’s one of those days! You know the ones – the kind where a client’s labrador puppy barrels into your studio and knocks a speaker right into your floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Okay, so that specific scenario might not be the most relatable, but I’m sure you understand what I mean. And to think it was only a few months ago that I had that new mirror glass installed. 
At times my lovely wife-to-be just gets things completely wrong. She always means well, but her command of the world at times lacks logic. The results are largely hilarious and insignificant but every once in awhile she just gets things very wrong and there is a mess to clean up.
My old friend from primary school, Edmond, and I are in the midst of a two-month house swap. We came up with this as a solution to our mutual need for a holiday somewhere far from home – that’s Scotland for me, and here in Australia for him. So here I am in the eastern suburbs of Melbourne, waiting to hear back from Edmond about getting his car to start.