It has been quite some time since I last wrote to you, dearest Diary. Life has been... quite challenging since last we spoke, and much has happened. I have passed my degree (unfortunately, I did not score as well as my identical twin brother, which means I must now study towards a Master's degree, lest he out-do me, academically). I have a new job, an "illustrious" career working for Domino's pizzeria, which I detest as much as I do busting my ass for the Commies down at the café. I am severely depressed. So much so, that after last week's gig there, I bought some booze and did not even drink it. That is not like me at all. I normally enjoy a nice pint of Belgian ale. Anyhow. If matters are to turn around, it is up to me, and me alone to make it happen.
Father sent me a "letter" yesterday. I say "letter", as in epistle, but it was not a letter. It was an envelope, containing another envelope and some blank paper. There was I, under the mistaken impression that correspondence was a two-way matter. One can see just how "close" I am to either side of my family. This does not help my ever spiralling depression. About the only two good things that have happened is that last night a nineteen year old girl hit on me (yes, I am still Brad Pitt style attractive, even at 38) and this morning, when I went for breakfast and she was sober, she still chatted me up. This does wonders for my ego. The other good thing that has happened is that little Ronulus is doing well, as ever. He is as faithful as Achates (fides sicut Achates) and is studying towards his Master's in Barkaeology.
I went to see Petra yesterday. She is living in Rainbowland. Big-time. Seemingly, the reason the migrant camp at Calais is there is because (and I quote) "long shadows are cast in the desert, weather phenomena in the Mediterranean sea and the 'fact' that nomads such as they have a tendancy to migrate northwards". So, according to Petra war and benefits in the UK have nothing to do with immigration. It is all because of the shadows and the weather. *rolls eyes*. "Come hither landlord, another but of sac for myself and these... learnéd colleagues of mine."
I am debating whether or not to return to work this evening. I missed my shift on Saturday night, which is going to piss the boss right off. Oh well. Not to worry. I will tell the truth: that I was so unwell, I could not even drink or eat anything.
I, fortunately, have the possibility of being a Latin teacher at a local academy. Seemingly they have found no-one else with that skill-set. It would appear that not many Darzet bumpkins understand Latin. Well well well. It looks like things might be looking up for little Maximus and Ronulus, God willing.
Goodbye for a while ever dearest Diary. I will miss you, sincerely.
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