Not to create a theme with titles, but at the time of writing this is exactly how long it is until I'm supposed to up sticks to Scotland and start degreeing it up, results willing. And I am bloody terrified.
If I had readers other than those who pester me to write, the previous post might have been a worry - "will I survive Malia?" followed by more than a month of silence. Really, it just boils down to sheer laziness and working a slightly ridiculous amount of hours. Having just got paid, I am ever so slightly in love with my job, but give me a week or two more with my radioactive lemon t-shirt, a lot of foreign students and repetitive strain from data inputting and I'll loathe it again. That said, I remain inordinately proud of the fact I might just be able to pay my way through first year... a major relief considering how much of a miniscule fail my student loan is.
Every few days I keep schitzing out, worrying about my results, September itself, everything really. I'm calming it with mental trips to Ikea for furniture and relentless optimism but it is pushing me to what I now like to think of as 'baking point'. Sadly, having no free time and no caster sugar renders me a bit useless on that front, so I'm largely settling for binge drinking and sleeping as distractions.
I'm a bit rubbish really. My to-do lists have gone from the hopeful to the mundane, with my summer plans of reading allegedly pretentious literature, completing video games and catching up on tv shows reduced to finding time to actually go out and maybe even wash my hair. Not that I'm a tramp. At all.
Never mind. Tomorrow, I'm visiting the Angel of North for the 5th time in the past 4 weeks. I'm definitely living the dream.
