Ah shit.

My brother Scotty and my brother-in-law Rolf were bringing my huge gargantuan casio keyboard back into my room. I usually sit my laptop next to my bed, the top open so that the downloads can go on in the background.

Rolf lost his balance and put his foot backward, the laptop had slid off its perch on a big block of Doctor Who books and *crunch*. The screen is now thoroughly FUCKED. It's crushed. Destroyed.

I cried like a baby for half an hour. Mum and Cati reckon they'll get it fixed, but I don't want Cati and Rolf to pay for any of it cause they're struggling as it is looking after Johnny.

I just freaked out, I'm still freaking out, cause that computer is a *lot* of support for me. I write my stories on it, I do pictures on it. I was going to write music on it. It was a portable tool, a connection to the world. I know I still have that connection, that it's me that carried that connection, that any computer can do what I need it to do, but it still hurts, you know? I really love my laptop. Her name is Athena Cortana.

Anyway, she's going to be fixed. I don't know why Mum is paying for it. She has as little money as I do. I wish I had more money but I fucking spent it all like a pillock. *headdesk*

I just can't have nice things. I can't have a trouble-free life, not even for a few months. Though I shouldn't bitch. There are people in Victoria that lost *everything* this past week, including their family. A laptop can be replaced. I'm okay.