476 words...

...of my Twelfth Night notes done.

It is very hot outside, which tends to make me sleepy, so for the past two days I have been dozing off while trying to revise.

And this morning my mother made way too much coffee, because my uncle was visiting and she thought he would drink more than he actually did. So now, as an alternative to feeling sleepy, I have had rather a lot of coffee to drink.

And now I can't do my Twelfth Night notes anymore becuase I keep getting distracted by the urge to walk briskly or dance around listening to music. And I did not even get very much sleep last night due to the bizarre screaming outside my window. It was either mating hedgehogs, cats being strangled or the agonised cries of the monster I created the other night out of dead body parts. I must make a mental note to stop ransacking the local graveyard.

Oh dear, I should really stop typing now.

Long Time, No Post

Not much has been occuring. Study Leave is dull; I have done some revision. Decided to revise English and do my Twelfth Night notes this week and do History next week.

I stayed up to three in the morning re-reading the second half of Stephen Fry's autobiography, so now I am exhausted and have wasted most of the morning sleeping. I also have hay fever. In between all this revision and procrastination, the television continues to be very interesting. Ashes to Ashes and Outnumbered may have ended, but there's still Doctor Who, Glee, How I Met Your Mother and the embarrassing guilty-pleasure programmes that I care about less than the ones listed above.

However, important to mention that Britain clearly does not currently have very much talent. Or maybe all the talent went to the BBC to be in Over the Rainbow, who knows.

Also, Stephen Fry quoted Macbeth in his autobiography (And pity, like a naked newborn babe) so I could technically argue that I stayed up until three doing hardcore revision. And I may need to get myself some antihistamine if this hay fever shenanigans continues.

Lies

My Dad is irritating me by pretending that he watched Ashes to Ashes last night (he didn't.)
He keeps saying things like, 'Oh, Ashes to Ashes was very good last night wasn't it?' and 'Fancy that, a man named Gene.'

And I'm like 'Shut up Dad, go away.'

It's like when he pretends that he used to watch How I Met Your Mother when he was at school (obviously not possible) or when he told me that he frequently runs into Jim Broadbent on the train to work (not true either.)

School's Nearly Out For Ever

Apart from revision sessions, exams, clearance and results obviously. And I plan to buy myself a tent and live for the remainder of my days on the back playground, roasting marshmallows on a small campfire and becoming known as the strange middle-aged woman who speaks in riddles.

I'll offer cryptic words of wisdom to passing students, like the witches in Macbeth, and maybe one day a student will try and befriend me and it will be made into an inspirational documentary. Perhaps in lessons the teachers will tell legends about me to the students, beginning with: 'They says she was a pupil here once, many years ago, shortly after the dawning of the new millennium...'

Or, you know, I'll go and be a normal person, but a normal person who after fourteen years of education gets confused by how 'ninety seconds' and 'one minute thirty' are the same thing.

Political Party

Having people over for a small political party was great; eventually at three in the morning we gave up on waiting for an actual result and decided to catch about four hours sleep.

Due to temporarily being possessed by a superhero, I got up at 7.20 and did the washing up. I'm glad that I did, as otherwise I would have to be doing it right about now. Katie very kindly drove me and Alex to school, where I tried (and failed) to sleep in the common room before Drama.

I also have to say, that despite the fact that we are technically going back for a revision session next week, the last English lesson with one of our teachers (do I name teachers in blogs? Probably not) was quite emotional. It also contained the most amazing Gothic-themed cake I have ever seen. Which was also the only Gothic-themed cake I have ever seen.

So shattered I am going to stop now because I don't trust my typing ability.

Talking to Strangers

This afternoon I went to Morrison's to buy ready meals for my 'home alone while parents go on random holiday in Chichester' stint at the end of the week. As usual I was listening to music and daydreaming on the way there, so after taking my headphones out in the actual shop I was still a little zoned out and only paying attention to choosing which ready meals didn't look gross (very few.)

When I got to the check out, still in my usual walking alone dazed state, I was a little unprepared for the conversation with the very friendly check out man, who after I said hello to him, asked me the following questions:

1. How are you?
2. Have you had a nice day?
3. What have you been up to this week?
4. Are you quite shy? You've gone bright red.
5. Do you have a bag? (Ok, this one was about the shopping)
6. Are you thinking of Uni?
7. Which one?

To which the answers were:

1. Fine thanks. You?
2. Er...yes.
3. Erm, not much.
4. Er...yes.
5. Yeah, I've got one thanks.
6. Yes.
7. UEA.

The Uni thing started because he said 'good luck doing whatever you're doing,' and I said 'Erm, A-Levels' becuase I was feeling like a mean, cold person for going red as opposed to volunteering any information. It occured to me that I either need to:

a) get better at talking to strangers, or
b) learn to use the self check-out.