It's that good hurt

Just got in from the rugby match and I am fucking knackered (like my apropriation of Brit words?). We didn't win but, I got over my fear of tackling. And since I've stopped being afraid, I am in love with the fucking game.

When I got in and took off my clothes, I noticed brusies all over my body. If I didn't admit that I was a little psyched about them, I'd be lying. It's like my batle wounds. And trash talking on the field, "You're mine bitch" really brings my love of the game to a whole new level.

As is tradition, we drank on the four hour bus ride home. I brought along a 3/4 empty bottle of port wine and then picked up some cheese and crackers at the rest stop's supermarket. Leave it to Oxford rugby to have port with cheese and crackers.

I have to write an essay and work on a project, but will fit it in tomorrow. Right now, I just want to sleep and watch some Comedy Central Motherload.