You've got some nerve.

Oh hi.

Me again.

In the words of Grits;
'My life be like oooooh-aaaaah'.

Or Mr Keating himself;
'Life is a rollercoaster, just gotta ride it'.

I've had ups, and I've had downs.

I've got a fun, well-paid job, an ah-maze-ing boyfriend and no more excruciating pain when I eat the tiniest of things. So, you know, pretty darn good. S'abouttimeright.

But after all this time, I hear you ask, why are you blogging again? Life sounds good? What brings you to the 'Tough Luck, Thomo' blog once again?

Well well well, reader. Let me invite you to enjoy my toothy trauma, my dental disaster, my bad luck banter.

Take a seat, get comfortable.

You good? Great. Let us begin.

The tale begins on a dark and rainy Friday evening. Sharp pains shoot up the side of my face. Ouch I think. It carries on. Ouch I say. It continues. Pain killers consumed. The night draws in. Sleep proves difficult, but I make it through. (I'm a trooper, what can I say).

The weekend comes and goes, Sunday night is here. The pain killers are now ineffective and the pain is worse. Oh gosh. 'Call the dentist tomorrow and make an emergency appointment'. Yeah, OK. I think I might.

Monday: 'Can have an emergency appointment?'. 'Yes, in a weeks time'.'Okay, I guess I can wait till then...'
Thank god you aren't part of the fire service, that's all I'll say.

Tuesday: DEAR GOD THE PAIN. Wait, is my face... Yes, yes it is indeed swollen an twice the size. Oh cool, it's down my neck too. Love it. L o v e  it.
I call 111, the emergency dentist number (that exists, who knew! So silver lining, this experience was at least educational). I make an emergency appointment, get X-rays and antibiotics and go on my weary pain-consumed way.

Next Monday: Actual appointment, more antibiotics and told to come back on Wednesday for root canal. My nerve is slowly dying. And why go quietly? You have your moment, nerve. Go out like one of those Samurai warriors in their final moments.
(May I mention here that getting to the dentist should have involved one 25 minute bus and a 10 minute walk. It actually involved one bus driving straight passed me, the next terminating early, three more turning up and terminating early, and then a 15 minute run).

Wednesday: Half a root canal later, I need to make another appointment because my face bled too much to continue. I'll need one for an hour, not just 20 minutes like this one. Ever heard of too much of a good thing? No, guess not. So she fills it with antibiotics (I just can't get enough), seals it with a temporary filling and sends me on my way.

Saturday: On the train home, minding my business. Crack. Saywhaaaaa. Oh cool. Half my tooth. Would you look at that. Brill. Great. Super. Only two weeks until my next appointment. That's nothing...


Karma, what the hell. I walked a blind man to the bank last week. I must have been truly evil in a previous life. #KickAKittenOrTwo

Weather forecast: Swollen with a chance of hideous.

Hayfever, they said. Take these pills, they said. It will all go away, THEY SAID.

They being the doctor and the internet.

'You have what appears to be a severe case of hayfever my dear. Take these pills and use this cream and you'll be fine in a few days'. 

Three months down the line, a desperate phone call to NHS Direct and a trip to the emergency Out Of Hours Doctors later, we've established; this ain't no hayfever. It's extreme eczema caused by weather change. You heard. Weather change.

So basically, my face can be used in place of BBC Weather for real-time temperature and climate information. Talk about a red puffy silver lining!

I like to think that, just like Peter Parker, I have developed my own personal superpower overnight. Screw spidey sense, I can judge humidity. And that's not all. Using words to express information is for boring ordinary people. Get this. Instead, my face will do it for me in the form of puffiness and swelling. If that's not an enviable talent, I don't know what is. 

By now, you're probably shaking with jealousy. Well, let me tell you buddy, it's not a gift to be taken lightly. With great power comes great responsibility. People stop in supermarkets and stare in awe at me*. I'm basically a modern day Prophet. What can I say, I'm blessed.







*N.B. To the wanker in Tesco who asked if I'd 'had a late night', I hope you step on Lego.

Holey hell with a side of puffy.

Gally me, I'm gallbladder free!

So that's the good news. It was all good for the most part (with the odd complication - it just wouldn't have been right had it been as simple as planned), I won't bore you - or perhaps that should be gore you? - with the details. Simply put: doctors 1, gallbladder 0.

So now, three weeks on, we resume regular programming.

You may recall the filling fiasco I had a few posts back involving 8 injections. The one that scarred me for life. But you know that old saying 'face your fears'? Well, my face is about to. Holey hell, as the blog title describes. 20 days from today, just enough time to psych myself up into a frenzy. SUPER. I'm 80% sure that it's the most problematic filling from the trip just gone by that's fallen out. Damn you Uni dentist, damn you.

Anyway, onto the side of puffy.

Hayfever. Need I say more. Perhaps I should. This year, nature has conspired against me. At work on Thursday, my eyes started to feel sore and itchy. 'Get over it Thomo, that happens to us all!' I hear you cry.

Well, fast-forward approximately 12 hours until 3am, and cue waking up to the feeling of my face on fire, and my eyes swollen to double their normal size. And why stop there, the pollen army declared. My mouth and surrounding area transformed into a 'Why so serious' Joker image. If only it was Halloween.

First week of work, and I become Coco the Clown. They say first impressions never last. I bloody hope not.

What a prick.

Thursday:
Pre-op assessment.
Including:
- Health questionnaire (history, allergies, lifestyle etc.)
- Blood pressure and temperature
- B...b...blood tttest.... *sobs uncontrollably*

All for a good cause though. So everyone keeps reminding me, but they're not the one being injected with a sharp piece of metal to extract vials of my blood which should naturally stay inside me.

So after the pressure and temperature tests were done, my history and life assessed ('If you had to walk non-stop on a flat surface, how many miles could you walk?' 'erm...lots?'), the time had arrived.

Off the jumper came, flesh bared. Deep breath. Credit to the lovely nurse, trying to calm me down, but by this time, I was very much a lost cause.

Fast forward 30 minutes, and it was over. Not. 30 minutes later, there had been three different attempts to take blood (the best Doctor in the place called in to 'take a stab at it'), and no blood. Not a drop.

'You might be dehydrated, we can't seem to get any blood out of you. Can you come back Saturday? Make sure you drink a lot!'.

Superb.

Saturday:

2 litres of water inside me, and I was ready. Inject me Nursy Nurse!

Fast forward 20 minutes, three injections later, and we'd filled up half the vials necessary. 'You've got such tiny veins! Try and relax, you've got too much adrenaline and they keep hiding away, it's really difficult to do'.

25 minutes later, three more injections, and we'd filled 4 out of the 6 vials.

They gave up after that.

Given that a syringe had to be used to drag the ever so reluctant blood they did manage to get out of me, it was decided that it just weren't playin'. The last two vials were only needed as a back up anyway, so screw it, they said.

Need(le)less to say, I was fairly delighted.

Superb. Superb times six. Actually superb times nine, including Thursday too. I'm fairly sure if I drank 2 litres of water now, I'd look like some sort of sprinkler given the amount of needle holes in me now.

I just can't wait for Tuesday's operation when they attempt to put the drip in my hand...

However, there is a silver lining to be found here. Heroine addict is off the cards. And I mean, that's always good right?

No doubt the next time I write I will be one organ lighter. So... till next time reader!



P.s. Oh, did I mention I graduated Uni? With a First. Say whatttttt.

Gally me, that's quite a stone!

If I was a top trump card, I think I would be the one people get and sigh.

Oh great, I got Miss. Sicky. You might as well just take her really.
*defeatedly hands over card* 

That being said, I'm not yet dead, so I'd have some pretty narly strength/deathproofability scores.
(Yes, I said narly, and I so pulled it off).

Anyway, several tests later and they have discovered a stowaway in my gallbladder in the form of a gallstone, which is taking up 25% of the space. Talk about greedy!

First it comes along uninvited and then has the nerve to take up a whole heap o' space without any permission at all. The rudeness of it!

So you know what they suggested to get even with the fucker? Remove it you say? No no. That would be tame. We want revenge damn it.

Instead, let's get the bailiffs in and take back it's stolen home by storm. I have termed it 'Operation retrieve gallbladder'. And by retrieve, I mean rip out and throw away. That'll teach the pesky stone once and for all.

Us against it.

And by us, I mean the surgeons who will be hacking me open like a dead animal operating on me in a few weeks time. I won't really have much participation in the whole ordeal other than lying there unconscious. Call me lazy.  

Am I scared? AS IF. I'm pumped to be sliced and diced, and wear that fetching hospital gown again. Blood tests?! GIVE ME TWO. Or not...

Actually, can someone please hold my hand?...

Well, it does keep me busy I suppose? There is also a 70-80% chance of no more excruciating pain after the op. Major plus!

And anyway, I always thought my body:organ ratio was just a tad unbalanced.

Note to self: wear sensible underwear.

Yesterday, I learnt how to make chicken curry, and how to make apple sauce (Not for the same dish I should point out).

After having a lie down to recover from all that excitement, I came to a realisation. Croydon is boring.

There, I said it.

Uni is over, and I'm home. Home, where there's nothing to do. Super duper.

Having ended a relationship with a guy who in all honestly was too good for me, I've realised there really isn't much back home for me. Growing up loving my small sleepy town, it turns out, as a Uni graduate, that really isn't too appealing. Whodaknown ey?

Well, I say nothing, that's a lie. Next week holds a heap of excitement for me. Hospital visits galore and tests a plenty. Welcome home to me...

I figured, go big or go home. From blood tests, to MRI's to ultrasounds, to some weird enzyme test, 'gimme the lot!' I said.

That's a lie. The doctor said 'give her the lot!', I whimpered and mentally broke down. Not that I'm not super excited. Bring on the tests!

Just one thing to remember: hospital gowns are backless... [see post title].

8 injections later...

You know what I love? The rush of adrenaline when a needle pierces through your skin and the intense surge of pain throughout your body that follows.

You know what I actually love? Sarcasm.

1460 days later, and I have now finished University. Woohoo. Well, somewhat premature woohoo because I have to have actually passed my final exams but that's a minor thing. I wanna woohoo and I'm gonna damnit. WOOHOO.

How did I celebrate? A trip to the dentist of course!

Normal celebrations are just so conventional. I love me some local anaesthetic and bright glaring overhead light for mine. Hell to the ye-ahhh. Or more helllb to thbe yebbah. My face is very numb, but I'll get to that.

Four fillings were to be had (what would the tooth-fairy think if she could see me now...).  Like the mature grown-up I have now become after four years at University, I calmly and collectedly walked to the dentist, went in, sat down, and awaited my death by needle and drill appointment entirely unfazed by the whole situation.

'Danielle, would you like to come in? Sorry for the wait'

'HELL FUCKING NO, I CAN THINK OF NOTHING WORSE ACTUALLY  Oh thanks, oh no, I wasn't waiting long at all actually'
*N.B. I may or may not arrived half an hour early which, coincidentally, may or may not be just enough time to completely psych yourself out about something you may or may not be terrified about. 

So down I sat, terrified, on the verge of a breakdown with a happy and carefree heart, lay back and sighed a contented sigh. So this is how I die, I thought. Finally, my teeth would be hole-free.

Anyway, due to being hypermobile, apparently, anaesthetic doesn't always work as well. Turns out, this is not an urban myth, but entirely true.

At this point, I would very much like to thank my nerve endings for taking part in this experiment. However, next time,  it might be nice to be informed that this was taking place. Just an idea, not that I didn't love the unexpected excruciating pain surging through my mouth and face element of surprise.

After fearing the first injection more than just about any horror movie ever made just a tiny bit, by the sixth injection, I was well-versed in what to expect. By the eighth, I was pretty much ready to do them myself.

An hour later, and an extremely numb face, and my teeth are now holey brilliant. Well, unholey brilliant, but that doesn't really work as well...

Iam never ever returning to that sadistic hell-hole ever again t really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be to be fair. Here's hoping I don't give myself a fat lip like the first and only other time I've had a filling...

As I sit here doing goldfish impressions facial exercises to lessen the numbing of my face (Google says it works so it must be true), I have only 3 days left in Bath in the student lifestyle. The real world back at home beckons.

Oh gosh.

Four fillings and a dysfunctional family, please.

29 days to go.

Those four exams are approaching scarily fast, but what better break from revision than a lovely trip to the dentist?

Last night I discovered a hole in my bottom tooth, and today I visited the delightfully called 'surgery'.

20 minutes later I was informed I didn't just need one filling, I needed four. Four?! Who the hell has been sneaking into my room at night and sprinkling sugar over my teeth?!

'You need to cut down on sugar' the dentist said.

'Ok, I will!' I said, too mortified at the horrific state of my teeth to tell her I don't even eat that much sugar. Like, ever. Ma teef arr doomd. (Just practising what it'll sound like when I lose them all...).

That was shitty thing Number One in my day.

The second however, hit it out of the park.

Now picture this. Four years ago my parents got divorced. They now don't talk. At all. Ever. Never ever. You got that? They don't talk. So, upon receiving an email informing me I didn't get my three tickets to my graduation, but instead, two, I was thrilled as you can imagine.

Welcome to who do you like more, with your host Danielle! 

Time to choose between parents! Who should I travel with is always a fun decision to make. So pleased to be a part of this game.

Whilst my best friend did her best to console me ( in my 'I'M NOT GOING THIS IS RUBBISH' state you were wonderful, bravo to you), other people were less... helpful. Lovely how people can be so understanding... ahem. Given that stress makes me ill, I can now expect to be planking in my graduation gown, what's not to laugh about?! Thrilled. Simply...thrilled.

Silver lining? I'll be able to spot my parents a mile off. The ones throwing chairs at each other in the back row. Makes it far more memorable in my view!

Sigh.

Karma, I deserve some sorta miracle right about now!

Warm jelly and a sedentary life.

50 days to go. 50. Like, less than two months. Scary scary stuff.

Anyway, it's been manic and crazy and stressful and blegh. To use the technical term. These last few weeks have consisted of four courseworks and a dissertation in the form of a six-person group report of 25,000 words. S'not been calm to say the least.

So, the post title. Let me explain.

Part 1)
Today in International Marketing, we were asked,
'Who do Marks and Spencer target?'.
Older people, we replied.
'And what are they like? What sort of lifestyle do they lead?'.
Sedentary I said. Just me, no one else. Just me.
'Sedentary... what? How can you live a sedentary lifestyle? How can you live a slow lifestyle?'

*Laughing among my lecture and peers*

Should I have stopped there? Perhaps.

'Have you ever walked behind an old person? They're slow'.

*A pause. And then....bigger increased laughing from my peers AND my lecturer*

That's right guys, I actually won one for a change.
Danielle 1, Embarrassment 100000000. I got one, that's what matters. Small victory, but in the stressful rubbishness that is deadline period of the last semester of final year, it matters.

Part 2)
Warm jelly. Have you ever had it? I don't recommend it.

Jelly was my evening treat to look forward to after working on my 3000 word essay on China and M&S. So I put it down, next to my laptop, to serve as a motivating force to power through. And power through I did. Two hours later and I'd finished my final version.

Success.

No, you know me better than that by now. Success is very much not my forte.

I reached out and grabbed the jelly pot (did I mention it was lidless?), and shook it lightly enjoy the little jiggle jelly does.

'Little jiggle' in this case is code for 'massive liquid explosion all over my floor, desk, clothes and laptop'. As it turns out, putting your jelly pot next to your laptops fan is a rookie error.

Heat + jelly = slop. Slop that is now decorating my floor in wonderful little slodges.

Brilliant.

Sigh. Back to my 3000 word essay. Turns out, China is quite a big complex place. Who'd have known?!

I am too busy to be ill.

In light of being full of a cold, I retract the previous statement. 

I'll live a life worth writing about next week. 

This week, I'll stay in bed, wrapped up in a blanket, drinking hot chocolate, watching endless Fresh Prince reruns. 

LOL JK.

87 days left of Uni. Ain't nobody got time for being ill. Time is irrelevant, s'always Coursework O'clock for me. 

However, it is Pancake Day! Am I having pancakes? YES. 

No, actually. I'm having pictures of pancakes. Sent to me by my Mum, from back home with my brother, while I sit here with my cupasoup. I can assure you, it's really really not the same. 

Sad face. Lonely ill sad face. Lonely ill sad unpancake-filled sad face. 

Whatever, I don't even like pancakes anyway. At all. Ever. Stupid tasty pancakes. 

Today's forecast: painful.

It hasn't rained all afternoon, and I've been inside a good few hours.

Screw it, I'm going to buy some Pepsi. Carpe diem and whatnot. It's on offer at Morrisons, so it's completely worth the 20 minute walk considering each can is the equivalent of 25p. Yeah. You heard, 25p. So you can understand where I'm coming from.

Warm coat or rain coat? There's a patch of blue sky. Warm coat. It ain't too toasty out there.

20 minutes later, I'm at Morrisons. I'M SORRY WHAT. No Pepsi. The sign is there. '1/2 price' in big, bold, boasty font. The shelf, however, bare, glowing with bitter-sweet disappointment.

Fine, I think, grumpily. Me and my half price cucumber and Morrison's value salsa will just leave then. Screw you all and your lack of Pepsi Max.

'I like your gloves' said some man by the door. 'Ha, thanks' I replied, and moved quickly on.

On, it soon became clear, to the Antarctic. Complete with a 'aha fuck you' from God in the shape of hailstorms.

Do you have any idea how much hailstones hurt your already numb fingers and face? No? I DO.

I made it home, just about, in my now wet  over-attached skinny jeans, sodden coat and once-white shoes.

Lesson learnt: Morrisons is rubbish. Oh, and always wear your raincoat.

Fuck off Flutey, I'm not in the mood.

Hey! It's been a while.

Oh wait. No, no it has not.

There was me, naively thinking that on Friday I should post the tiny amount of bad luck I'd had over Christmas because, weirdly, nothing big had happened, and maybe that was how things were going to continue to be. Oh boy, is my face red. Karma, you so funny. *enter a very unimpressed, slightly angry face here*

Bags packed, food slowly thawing, rain drizzling down and the two and a half hour journey back to Uni begins. My Dad offered to give me a lift (by offered, I mean, I asked and made it too uncomfortably awkward for him to say no...it's a fine line), so I could take a whole heap of stuff back in an attempt to make revision and exams that bit better. This week coming, and today (obviously), there's no one in my house but me. No distractions, let the learning commence! Means I have the house to myself. Great you think? I'm sorry have you met me?

With that idea in mind, on this 'tough luck Thomo' blog, let me continue. Unpacking all the bags from the car, my Dad states he needs to 'shoot back' so he arrives home a suitable time. Fair. 'Put the heating on Danielle, you'll freeze!'.

As I sit here with gloves on typing this, attempting to see passed the fog that appears every time I breathe, you'll realise, heat was not to be. Have a hot shower instead you say? No no, where's the fun of no heating if you can have a hot shower? If you're gonna go 18th century, do it properly!

After a three hour fight with the boiler push-buttons, slidey-buttons, hidden-under-flap-buttons and the power switch, defeated, I called my landlord. He then did the same things as me, with the added benefit of actually knowing what he was doing, and then declared 'you're fucked mate'. Okay, it was more 'I think the fans broken, I'll call British Gas but for tonight it might be a bit cold, I'm really sorry', but my version allows for greater dramatic effect. Poetic licence we'll call it.

In this time, I'd also discovered the WiFi wasn't working. An hour of searching in the front room for the 'god damn bloody router' (such foul language is excusable when home alone) where it used to be, I messaged my house-mate in a moment of desperation. It was under her bed, just unplugged. Plug in socket, switch turned on. And they say this technology business is difficult. Pssh. As if.

HELLO WORLD.

Mission internet: accomplished.

Luckily though, this ordeal was drastically improved through the DO DO D..O.. DDDD..OO tune invading my bedroom through the walls of our house. My neighbour has a flute, who'd have known! I'd say 'plays' the flute, but I'm not sure that would quite convey the sound I want you too to experience. Is there a helpline for flutes? NSPCF perhaps? I might slip the number under the door when she's out. Not that I'm bitter or anything. But hey, it's no longer the season to be jolly. Fa la la la NA. Though, she wasn't to know the situation I was in. Or maybe she did, and was trying to cheer me up? Bless her.

And so ends my first day back in Bath of 2014.

Mission slowly freeze to death overnight: in progress.

Off to Google ways to keep warm. Stay safe in the storms! x

It's a New Year, in case you missed that.

Fireworks and alcohol? Screw that! How about a candlelit home-cooked meal for two and a movie in front of a log fire?

No, I did not spend New Years watching a cheesy romantic film, I actually had my own romantic evening. Genuinely. That happened. Special ain't even the word. Amazing. Truly amazing.

Anyway, Happy New Year and whatnot. Time to make a New Years resolution and then forget it in a few weeks and carry on living life as normal. 'So, come on Thomo, it's called 'tough luck', where's the tough luck?!' I hear you say. You did. Shut up. Alright, I'll feed your sick desire.

This New Years break I spent a few days away down South, near the sea, in the beautiful countryside. Sounds like the start to a really bad old novel, it's not. Bear with me.

Scenic, beautiful and idyllic. For someone from grimy old Croydon, it was like Wonderland. An old-fashioned house with log fires surrounded by the country. I can't really do it justice, despite being the word-smith I am. You get the idea though, it was wonderful.

I had an amazing time, and then God was like 'screw you, I'ma fuck you up'. If I believed in God, that would be true. After 3 amazing days, *the night* came. Two chocolate fingers. TWO. And the world hates me. Slight exaggeration, okay, but it wasn't great, is my point.

Why have a perfectly lovely time, when you can add in a night of excruciating pain? HELL YEAH. Sign me UP! Well, I don't recall ever signing anything, but apparently I was signed up anyway. After a restless night of seemingly endless pain and ineffective painkillers, the morning came. Spoiler alert: wonderfulness coming.

There I am, crippled at the end of the bed, scrunched into a pain-induced ball, and something wonderful happened. A special person, who will not be named for legal* reasons, came and slept next to me, on the floor, because I wouldn't move from my ball of pain on the floor. If that's not amazing, I don't know what is. So I would almost say I was glad I had a night in pain, just for that moment. But I won't, so I don't sound clingy and pathetic. #HopelessRomantic.

And now, as Eminem sang, 'Snap back to reality'. In two days I go back to Bath for my exams. Three of the buggers. As the Pointer Sisters sang, 'Fuck you exams'** (I may have made those lyrics up).  Wish me luck! Or don't, whatever. I don't want to seem needy.

146 days of Uni left. And then I'm free! London, watch out. I'ma be back before you know it. Off to watch TV and eat sweets revise. Enjoy the last week of eating junk food before the self loathing and guilt exercise begins! x




*By legal I mean I don't want to embarrass the hell out of him
**N.B. This joke only makes sense if you know that The Pointer Sisters sung the song 'I'm So Excited'

I spent this week dying, she said, dramatically.

So this Tuesday was my 22nd birthday.

After 4 hours of lectures and a group meeting - consider it an early birthday present to myself - I got on a surprisingly packed train to London on Monday evening.

I had an amazing (am I using that word too much?) night Monday with someone pretty damn special (I know you're going to read this and make fun of me so just shut up in advance), full of lovely feelings (I actually have them, true story) and happiness (oh God, I sound like a hippy, man).
- I got a book on how to use brackets effectively in sentences for my birthday, can you tell?

Tuesday morning was equally lovely, and I spent the rest of the day with family. Mum in the morning, Dad in the evening. Divorce, who doesn't love it?! To be fair, two lots of presents, and two lots of cake. And here is where the issue arises.

So I'm not supposed to eat big meals, or late. After about 6/7pm, it's a no fly zone. And by fly, I mean eat, in case that wasn't clear. Medical thing, not a self-inflicted hipster diet. 'I live on juice alone made from vegetables and wood chippings'... I'm sure you do, now go be 'cool' somewhere else. Anyway, 6/7pm is the cut off point. Why? Because otherwise I get this excruciating pain where I can barely stand that lasts about 8/12 hours (usually overnight). No biggy. Digestion is for losers. It's all about being unique...
Right, so,  background story complete, let's get to the good stuff.

Tuesday evening, it got to 6pm and I'd been to lunch with my Mum and had the usual junk food a birthday involves (thanks for the tray of cupcakes Char, I in no way blame you for what is about to entail...). Safe to say, I was full. Very full. Fast forward two hours, my Dad arrived home from work, and dinner was being served. 8pm. Good maths, go you. Dinner and birthday cake. Birthday cake that bit back.

Fast forward again to 11pm. Asleep? Heavens no! That's so yesterday. It's all about staying up all night nowadays. In crippling pain, because otherwise you're just not doing it right.

Fast forward (what seemed like an eternity to me) 7 hours, and it was time to get up to get my train back to Bath for the presentation we had at 11am worth 10% of our grade. 10%. 6:22am train for a 10% presentation. No sleep, still in crippling pain, feeling sick. You know what's missing? Public transport! And let's make it horribly cold too. WHY NOT?! Start my 22nd year as I mean to go on. Screwed, basically.

11am presentation done. Managed to stay awake just about, and the pain started to go (it had been about 12 hours of pain by now, I don't like to do things by halves. No pain no..gain?). After group meetings and some work, 9pm was here. Okay, let's speed this sob story up.

Sleep you ask? Of course! Of course not. Instead of sleep, pain. Pain pain pain. Back again. No sleep Wednesday night. Pain and sobbing (I really think I'm entitled to feel a bit sorry for myself. Fuck off, I am). Thursday morning shines brightly through my window. Screw you sun. Thursday was spent feeling sick and tired (not the phrase, actually nauseous and exhausted). Night time. Sleep? Yes! Sleep! No. No sleep for you. You had cake. You greedy greedy birthday girl.

Thursday I ate all of a cereal bar and a bowl of soup. Clearly, soup and cereal create some sort of sleep-fighting super villian. Thursday night was again spent awake, until about 4am, when the pain killers finally worked and I drifted off to sleep. Luxury.

So, to sum up, the beginning of my 22nd year? Not quite the delight I had envisaged.

However, armed with the coolest umbrella I've ever seen (yeah, I said umbrella, and what), a smiley pizza slice soft toy (the best soft toy I have ever got, like...ever) and a whole heap of really thoughtful presents, I can't really complain. Even the cards I got were thoughtful (Auntie Sarah, you are, and will always an awesome person). In a way, I'd almost say it was... worth it. This birthday was one of the best I can ever remember. Gosh. All 22 years. Yeah alright, Mr/Mrs Picky, it's not that many years, but clearly I'm trying to emphasise that in spite of the rubbish rubbish aftermath of my birthday, it was awesome.

Now, as it's 10pm, and I really miss the excitement from this weeks food-fiasco, I'm off to an all-you-can-eat buffet for a chow down.
I can hear the ambulance sirens' now. x

It's nutritious!...

Okay, so I take full accountability for the results of my actions detailed below. It's not so much bad luck, as misfortune I brought upon myself in a moment of idiocy. Let me explain...

I take a module called 'Advanced Advertising Theory'. It's the one I spoke about previously involving the purple laptop incident, you know, the incredibly embarrassing incident we don't ever speak about. Advanced Advertising Theory is about as exciting as it sounds. And it sounds like a roller-coaster ride with a sabre-toothed tiger right? Right...

Anyway, although this may be hard to believe, at times, I lose my concentration and glance at my phone for a moment or two. In a way, it might not be my fault that this happened, because my people need me. I'm insanely popular, you see. (As if you didn't know that already).

So, as I was saying, I picked up my phone to text my Mum back, and this, this is where the trouble began.

The general idea of this module is to analyse adverts and assess their meaning, what they are trying to convey to their audience. It can be quite interesting. We began with the Cadbury gorilla ad. Good marketing. A drum playing primates set to the soundtrack of Phil Collins' 'In the air tonight'; - what's not to love? Seriously though, inspired. We then looked at the Butchers dog food advert. In this, we can establish that the food makes your dog healthy and strong. I mean, this isn't rocket science is it.

The excitement of the dog advert really got to me, and I needed a time out. This was where I reached for my phone. A quick glance at the board before I looked at my phone showed a bored cat lounging around a house, suddenly becoming energetic. Given that I'm not particularly a cat person, and that I was just a tad disinterested in the advert, I read my text, replied, and looked back up. The advert had stopped, the screen was black. Oh darn, I missed the end.

'What do you think this advert is showing?' our lecturer asked.
Silence
'I think it shows the product is nutritious' I said, attempting to break the awkward unresponsiveness of our Monday morning class.

Now this, this is the point at which I wished I'd just shut the fuck up. Hero to zero in the space of 10 seconds. I thought I was saving the class. I thought the lecturer would be thankful someone answered. I shouldn't think, is the overall moral of this story. I might as well have shouted out 'don't forget I'm the moron who picks laptops only based on colour!'.

As it turns out, the advert was for O2. Something about 'be more dog'. I still don't know, I can't bring myself to watch the ad again. I realised this about 10 seconds after speaking. My insightful 'nutritious' statement caused everyone to stare at me for a second or two, then laugh a bit assuming I was making some sort of weird joke. The lecturer gave me a 'what are you even talking about' look, gave a brief chuckle, and moved on.

Oh hi there humiliation. It's been a while. Oh wait, no, no it has not.

Lesson: shut the fuck up unless you know what you are saying. Stop playing on your phone in lectures.

Other than this, things are pretty swell.
Wedding was a success. Boyfriend still pretty wonderful (adding the 'pretty' makes me less clingy). Foot has made a full recovery. Uni? 191 days left, that's all you need to know.
It's also my birthday next week, and not too long till Christmas. Romantic movies and duvet days! And this year I have someone who will actually watch them with me. Ah the sickly sweet romance. Just like in the movies! Happy times.

Sigh. Time to get back to my mountain of Uni work. I LOVE EDUCTAION. Educaton. Edu.. School. x

Clearly, I shot an old lady in a previous life.

We're down to 210 days, so my countdown app says. And how is life? Well. Well...

After attempting to be fit and healthy and starting running in replacement for the gym while being at Uni (and a poor student who can't really justify £400 on a gym subscription), I have either severely torn the muscles in my foot or fractured it. How do I know? Because I've spent all of two weeks hobbling around on it, progressively getting more disabled (I say it's walking with swagger. Most people disagree. What do they know?), before finally going to the doctors and being told. I went for an X-ray, the woman told me she couldn't be sure and to await the doctors analysis. In the meantime, 'try not to walk'. That's cool, I was trying to cut down anyway...

Okay, so why the post title? 'Shot an old lady'? Bit melodramatic for just that? It's more 'kicked an old lady' than shot... Well, thanks for being so sympathetic. Dick. But no, since you asked, that is not it.

By limping so much, I have also strained/pulled the muscle in my other leg, making walking even more painful. Well hell, I love a good challenge. THANKS GOD.

Ok, fine, so you're a bit crippled, things aren't really going your way I guess. But still, shot? More like... 'pushed an old lady over and then kicked her'. I know, it's like I'm reading your mind right? Scary stuff. Well it IS Halloween. *enter scary woo ghost noise*

THE STORY CONTINUES.

In trying to soothe the muscle ache in my un-crippled foot side, the one with the pulled muscle, I decided to put a hot water bottle on it. It's cold in Bath too, so it was nice to keep me warm. Be careful what you wish for guys. The hot water bottle then split, all over my thigh, and burnt my leg.

'Holy shit, you did shoot an old lady in a previous life didn't you!' I hear your mind cry. I must have.

Things, evidently, are not going my way.

Oh, might I add, that during the hot water bottle performance, I was also on the phone to my newly found boyfriend. Way to look like a complete moron. Well, I'm sure he already had an inkling, but I've safely secured the position of Head Retard in his mind now. Superb... Superb.

Well, I'm off to break a few mirrors and throw salt around like a mad-man. LIKE IT MATTERS. Oh, and wait for a 'hey freak, s'totally over' text.

Don't eat too many sweets! x

227 days left

Today, during one of my lectures (two 2 hour lectures on a Monday morning starting at 9am... Can I get a EURGH), my lecturer asked on what attributes we picked our laptops, attempting to demonstrate the emotional appeal of adverts/brands.

I stated that I chose my laptop due to the fact it was purple.
He asked if I was sure I was on the right course.

Burn. 

Nevertheless, 227 days to go. Not that I'm counting or anything (I have an app for that).

The beginning of the end.

'It's been a while since we talked last, and I'm trying hard not to talk fast'
-Gym Class Heroes - Cupid's Chokehold

I've posted once since this started, appalling. However, life has been somewhat of the crazy nature. I have broken up with my long-term boyfriend (four and a half years, whoa man, whoa), found a new wonderful and amazing guy (don't tell him, it'll go to his head and also I'm trying to play it cool - it's hard work even when you're this naturally cool), I have finished my second university placement, and returned back to my favourite place of work as a temp for a short time once again. Also, my sister has got engaged, my brother has got a boyfriend (say whattttt. Yes, you heard me), my best friends baby now walks and talks, and my Dad's wedding is almost upon us. I say us, you're not really involved, depending on who you are of course. Auntie Sarah? You're totally my wingman for the night. But random strangers reading this, you totally aren't involved.

Anyway. I have now returned to University for my fourth and final year. Can I get a HOORAY?! As of today, I have 243 days left of University, which means 8 months and 1 day left of education. It seems so close, and yet so so far. But nevertheless, I am both excited and bored. I am excited that this is my last year: what will it hold?! Lectures, most likely, but let's be optimistic. I am also a little bored that I am still here, four years has a way of lasting forever when you're desperate to be free and work. Just when things were going amazingly, with a guy who just by seeing him makes me smile, a best friend that is incredible and looks out for me all the time, and a family that are crazy as anything but provide more than enough comedy for me, I'm off again. SIGH. But let's keep optimistic about this.

And yes, I genuinely want to work rather than be at University. Gasp and pull a face, everyone else does. But when you work at a place as awesome as I did for the first placement of my degree, and then went back there two more times and STILL loved it, you'd get it. Until then, stop pulling faces, it makes you look ugly. HA. Lemon face. (By this I mean you look like you've eaten a lemon because your face is all screwed up, in case that wasn't apparent).

So, it is officially the beginning of the end - of Uni I mean...I hope I'm not dying. I have unpacked the last of my boxes, and my final experience of student life is under way. LET DO THIS SHIZZLE.

Peace. x
(I can totally pull that off so just shh.)

Breaking my blog's virginity.

Today is no particularly special day. It's average to say the least.
Despite the day beginning with potential, the delightful sunshine bursting through my window, even the weather has realised how distinctly average today is, and has given up. It's cloudy, my, what a surprise.
'Why are you telling me this?' I hear you ask. You didn't?... Well humour me, pretend you did.
Today may not be a particularly exciting nor interesting day, but - time to get deep - each day is what you make it. So do something interesting, different, out of the ordinary. Even if it's something small. It doesn't have to be inventing the wheel or hang-gliding. Make someones day. Buy a homeless man a chocolate bar. Why not? You have nothing to lose. The day is yours. Do with it what you will. Carpe that diem!
Today is a Saturday, in April, and *crack*. There goes my blog virginity. Cringe at that did you? Good. It's called dramatic effect. Mission: accomplished. I've chosen to start a blog. Record my memoirs. My legacy.
Okay, so it's more a collection of mindless rants and discussions (by myself...) but it's my thoughts on life nonetheless, which will become my memories, so ha, criticism averted. Mini high-five for me (again, by myself...).
So, given the growing realisation of my clear loser-loneliness, it's time to head off and at least pretend I have an interesting life to lead. Besides, you're not to know!
Have a wonderful day, Mr/Ms. Reader, I'm off to fight dragons and do some time travelling.
Laters.