Eat your heart out, Loki Laufeyson. Your mind is a box of cats? In my mind, those cats have been dipped in jalapeno sauce, doused in gamma rays, set on fire and unleashed in a glass menagerie. All with the approval of the RSPCA, of course.
At present, I am:
1 - Compiling the notes for a minimum 6,000 word essay, with no contact from the teacher who is supposed to be helping with my bibliography and essay layout.
STOP MOCKING ME WITH YOUR OVER-COMPLICATED ACADEMIC TERMINOLOGY, YAHOO! ANSWERS!!!
2 - Editing the eighth draft of my Personal Statement - trying to condense every English Literature-related achievement and interest into 47 lines, as well as reasons why I'm a fascinating person and should be chosen over thousands of others. I've even gotten to the stage of agonising over changing commas into semi-colons.
"ATTENDEE AT" . . . "ATTENDEE OF" . . . DICTIONARY! WHY WON'T YOU GIVE ME A STRAIGHT ANSWER!?
3 - Attempting to learn all manner of brain-numbing theory for the first part of the exam that will make or break my attempt to earn my driving license. Thus far, according to a practice test, I'm about as far from the 80-90% pass grade as Bruce Forsight is from working out that he's not funny any more.
CARAVANS!? NOBODY MENTIONED QUESTIONS ABOUT CARAVANS!!!
4 - After enduring all the rain, bogs and demonic wildlife that Dartmoor could throw at me, I am now trying desperately to organise my scattered and oft-distracted group into doing the research for the final phase of our trial - the project. Unfortunately, my computer refuses to load the photos they need to do their research around as the files are too large, and my email server seems to have an aversion to zip files. And it is also a massive hypochondriac.
COOKIES!? I'VE ALREAD UPDATED YOU A MILLION TIMES, COMPUTER, AND NOW YOU WANT COOKIES!? WILL NOTHING APPEASE YOU?
. . .
Oh, and did I mention the fact that I'm currently watching my whole world disappear into cardboard boxes, to be shipped across the English Channel into a country where I am utterly incapable of any communication beyond using my nationality as an excuse for my pathetic language skills, and asking where the toilet is?
I CAN'T EVEN SPELL THE WORDS, LET ALONE PRONOUNCE THEM WITHOUT SOUND LIKE A DRUNKEN COCKER SPANIEL OUT ON THE LASH ON FRIDAY NIGHT!!!
.
.
.
But other than that, I'm perfectly fine. Honest. No drama here, oh no no, nothing to see in the slightest.
No rest for the wicked, eh? Still, hopefully if I try and take them one by one, they'll be fooled by this tinfoil helmet and stick sword, and won't realise that this Productive Knight is nothing more than a Procrastinator Who Really Has To Act Now Or Face Certain Doom.
Let's hope my battlecry, at least, is convincing.
As for you, my dearies, I'm afraid my contact with you will be shorter than usual. Once the move is over and I settle back into a vague routine at school, I daresay my posts stand a much higher chance of returning to their usual feeble attempts at coherency. However, with the uncertainty regarding our location / doings / access to internet, you may have to do without me for a while.
Unless I somehow manage to persuade Moriarty to help me steal the keys to the TARDIS again. Though that may not be such a good idea after what happened last time we went on a joyride in that thing. Apparently there's still a large hole in the ceiling in Caer Paravel. Sorry, Aslan. We'll pick up that tab eventually.
Oh, and I'm also getting the results of my AS exams today. You know, the ones where I went all Sean-Bean-impersonator and wailed about the advancing armies of doom that had come to claim my brain.
Yeah. They come out today. No idea when, but they're coming.
. . . Can someone give me a hug? Please?
~ Charley R
