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Journal created:
on 20 November 2003 (#1474159)
Updated:
on 20 March 2013
Name:
Daya
Birthdate:
22 July 1983
Location:
Exeter/Plymouth, United Kingdom
Lace for a lady. Letters for a Spy
Once upon a time there was a little girl called Daya. Well, actually, that wasn't her real name but her real name is a secret. Obviously. Because, you know, internet stalkers and the such. And real life stalkers. Mustn't forget about them. Anyway, Daya wanted to grow up and be a fighter pilot. Or an artist. Or a teacher. Or a marshmallow maker and eater. Sadly for Daya, bad eyesight, the inability to even hold a pencil correctly let alone draw with it, a dislike of children and an overindulgence of marshmallow meant that these career options were no longer valid for her.

So she went to university to do a BA in English. Like most people who haven't the vaguest idea what to do with their lives. There she discovered (in no particular order) boys, vodka, writing, kittens, more vodka, blue stuff and Middle English. (One or possible more of these things are responsible for having an extremely hazy memory of those three years...).

Unfortunately, an English degree no longer guarantees any sort of success (if it ever did) and Daya found herself in the wilderness of unemployment, waitressing and temping. While this was amusing and varied (have worked for the Army, the Police and selling hot tubs...) it did lead to a lack of financial profit. Mainly due to an addiction to jeans. There are worse things to be addicted to. Like crack cocaine. So don't judge her for her denim habit okay? Daya decided that there was only one thing to do.

Retrain.

But what as? An impromptu day off revealed the answer. While watching crappy daytime TV, Daya stumbled across a programme about midwives. A lightbulb went off. She could do that!

Myth became legend and legend became a poverty stricken three years working for the NHS and doing a BSc in Midwifery.

Finally though, Daya qualified and leapt headfirst into the choppy waters of Newly Qualified Midwifery Business. Unfortunately she failed to check if a lifeguard was present first and is now floundering somewhat. Apparently the NHS not only want to make you work for a pittance and all hours under the sun but selling your soul to the Devil is also compulsary. Who will write you an IOU and then tell you he'll get back to you the second Tuesday after the Apocalypse to discuss terms and a repayment schedule.

In her spare time Daya likes to pretend she's a writer, abuse commas and chase men. She has been known to fake surf every so often. She'd like to claim she's a surfer but as she's yet to hit the waves once this year, her credentials are distinctly suspect. Daya lurches from one romantic crisis to the next with a jauntiness that astounds those who have to read about the Dramas. Drama Llamas are an optional extra.

Daya is drawn to highly unsuitable men. This knowledge does not stop her from plunging head first into these 'relationships'. The fall out afterwards is at least vaguely amusing.

At present, Daya has abandoned The Doctor (not that one) who hereafter shall forever be referred to as Dr. Dick. The fallout from that relationship was most definitely a supernova.

She bounced effortlessly into a healthy relationship with a nice chap who is normal. She's still waiting to wake up.

Daya lives in the West Country in a house with a policeman. They are quite fond of each other, bound together by a a mutual hatred of shift work and being forced to do nights.

Once earned, Daya's loyalty is fierce and true. In some ways she resembles a remotely pissed off hedgehog when upset (how do hedgehogs have sex? Carefully!).

Her faithful companion is The Cat of Doom (now living with her parents).

She has an unhealthy obsession with the following: James Bond, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Flight of the Conchords, Star Trek, True Blood, Rome, Blackadder, Green Wing and Monty Python. She learned satire (and sarcasm) at her father's knee. Naturally sarcastic, Daya will bite (and not always politely) when poked with a sharp pointy stick.

Tell Daya's she's wonderful. Will write for compliments.


Daya


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Odi et amo. Quore id faciam, fortasse requiris? Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior
-- Catullus

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