MMR'd!

I am now right in the middle of suffering from my yearly complete inability to write music. Nothing that I put down seems to sound quite right, whether it's for the latest game project or for stand-alone songs. The nearest I've got was when I wrote what I thought was quite a good chorus, only to later discover that Michael Weikath had written something dangerously similar about twenty years ago.

I've just got back from having my MMR booster, as there was some doubt as to whether I'd had the second one or not. The nurse also told me that I had two different dates of birth on record - unbelievably, the other David Newton from AMH is still following me around, and his records were mixed in with mine.

Finally, I went to the bank and transferred some money across to Whitney's account. I've been slightly worried about money recently, but fortunately, Computer Science has aided me once again and I have been paid an obscene amount for doing up a website. Transferring it was some task, though - I was being assisted by a hunt-and-peck typist who didn't know where the Shift key was, and it took the entire staff of the bank clustered around one screen making suggestions to her to finally get the transfer through. Even though the receipt says it went to "mechanic bank" instead of the Mechanics Bank, I was happy enough that she at least got the account number right in the end.

Neighbour

The constant barrage of noise from my downstairs neighbour became too much for me today, as the entire left hand side of the flat is now vibrating and I'm worried about bits falling off the bathroom. I went down and asked him (quite politely, I thought, given the circumstances) if he could reduce it. He asked back, in his outrageous thick accent, if I had a baby. I said no, but that I was trying to work. He just concluded that "You are strange, I think" and closed the door on me.

So I killed him. Smashed his stereo over his head, then dragged his body upstairs to get rid of the evidence. I then peeled his skin off with a handy kitchen knife, and stretched it out to form new membranes for my own speakers, revelling in the irony of it all.

Well, I didn't really do that, in case any prospective employers are reading this and think I'm mental. But is there anything I can do about this?