I moved into a new apartment in the city overlooking the Swanston street Town Hall. Fantastic location and so amasingly central. Perfect if I were a serial sniper… which I’m not. However I discovered today that my gas and electricity was cut off. Runny eggs kinda morning. First thing on the mornings agenda was to subliminally berate the real estate agent. This I thought could be added to the growing list of complaints I had about him. He sort of seems to glaze over and shut off every time I approach him. Though it seems more like a process of intellectual Darwinism than anything else. As though he refuses to devote any unnecessary mental acuity to anything that doesn’t satisfy his immediate needs of food; sex; shelter. Do I blame him? HHmmmm. I’m sure I wouldn’t want to have to deal with pissy questions of carpet cleaning and gas vs electricity. So I contain my anger and deliver an irate pregnant stare. When I go to check my emails whether or not he responded to my questions of utilities I realise that I cant open Gmail on my RMIT account. No dirty foreign mail accounts apparently. So I walk heatedly towards the State Library…. an hour too early apparently. Ouch! After finally discovering that I needed to call XXXXX about both my gas and electricity accounts I get a return phone call from my mother who seemed slightly off on the phone. Being the “Beacon Of All Knowledge” I assumed she’d provide a snappy answer to my question of who to go with XXXXX or YYYYYY. After a tired sounding pause I discovered she was calling me from a hospital. W.T.F? A pain in her heart on Monday… MONDAY? That was 3 days ago… Is she allowed to keep these things from me? After talking to her for an house she continues to tell me she’s fine fine fine. HHHMmmmmm.  As I said earlier, a real pissy runny egg kinda morning.