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Last night J and I celebrated our anniversary with delicious dinner and bubbly and watching depressing films.* It was nauseatingly sweet. And if the supermarket cashier didn't judge our lifestyle when we walked up to the counter with booze, cigarettes, icecream and condoms then she is some kind of saint.

Today was payday, and also Sort Out My Travel Monies day, and with 2k in pounds sterling on one card and a new substantial term deposit ... I'm very much feeling my middle-class-ness. And pointlessly terrified, as though the money is going to just vanish if I'm not extra-careful with it. No, I'm not still suffering the aftereffects of a very money-deprived childhood, why do you ask?

*Seriously though, The Wrestler is phenomenal. Just ... very grim.
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J purchased Rock Band 2 today - possibly the last copy in Wellington, which he is by no means hugely smug about.

Wearing my vocal chords out with some NiN has certainly helped ease the stupid-induced tension I was feeling this arvo. I've hit the "oh thank God I'm only here for 6 more months, I can totally last that long if I just switch off my emotion chip" mark. Which is never a good sign. You'd think workplaces would give a toss about their staff being overstressed and undersupported, if only in the name of operational efficiency.

Went to see Jeanette Fitzsimons' valedictory this evening. It was ... good, but obviously sad. Especially when she brought up Rod Donald. I did NOT get teary in the House of Reps, no sirree.

Tomorrow my term deposit expires and I will have a crapload of money sitting in my savings. I am not stressing out from sheer responsibility-aversion at all. Nor am I in any way worried about starting sentences with "I was talking to a Wealth Advisor at the bank and ..."

Shan't be grown-up. SHAN'T I SAY.
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Today was a Grown-Up Day. I had a meeting with a financial advisor. At my bank. About savings and investment.

It was a bit weird.

But on the plus side I was praised and told that my existence (as a young person with concrete/achievable savings goals, a set-but-flexible budget and no credit card) made someone very excited. Which has really left me feeling much more relaxed about things.

Now if only my brain would get the message so I could stop waking up at 4.28am every morning in a panic because I haven't filed enough sleep in the correct folders of the work document management system, everything would be lovely.

PS. Dear Wellingtonians, I would be ever so obliged if you would respect my desire to be a Sevens-Free Zone. The Sevens is not sport, nor entertainment; it is a vortex of evil and a vital link in Satan's plans for bringing about Armageddon.


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Boxing Day Baby

December 2010

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