I have Angus in my life.

No, not a holiday for mothers giving birth, but a day off for all you hardworking folks!

Anyway, a public holiday means that my brother is allowed to come home for the day, and return to camp the next evening. WEEEEE! And he just got home. With a shaved head.

HAHAHHAHAHA! It eez teh HIGH-larious!

I can’t help but swish my hand through the air above my hair and he would say, ‘What?’, and I would say, ‘You have no hair! Gahahahahah!’ I know, I am so mean and lame, but it is teh funny. And he looks chubbier. Fatter, if I must.

I should take a photo of him when I can.

I almost forgot that my brother was coming home tonight, until my mother disappeared into the night and suddenly sent me a text message, asking if my brother had come home. It just makes me less tired.

Otherwise, I would be deader than a dead fish by now. Because I am already very tired, all goggly-eyed, organizing my files, and photos. Oh, and whenever I upload a naise photo, people should tell me if it is nice enough for me to put it on my Flickr! That would be great!

It is a very troublesome chore, for both my desktop and laptop have run out of space. I am having a hard time trying to re-arrange my files so they can fit snuggly together, while I bring MacB. out for a walk with my mates tomorrow.

Even though it’s Labour Day tomorrow, I would be slogging my brains out tomorrow anyway. A public holiday means make-up lesson. I would rather forgo a public holiday then stay back another dozen hours or so to make-up for the public-holiday-lost lessons.