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!
Wednesday, 30 April 2014
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
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?!
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?!
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
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.
Wednesday, 12 February 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, 5 January 2014
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
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
Friday, 3 January 2014
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 towatch 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'
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
*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'
Sunday, 1 December 2013
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
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
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