So I’M DONE! With the damned essays.
And what better way to celebrate than to do fix the awful pile of laundry sitting proudly atop the spare chair in my room? Okay I’m not that pathetic. I did have a numbed celebratory dinner at Sushi Hiroba with C and J, but that ended up with me nearly passing out on my half of the booth while we were getting the bill. Too much Redbull on no sleep does that to you. I was out like a light at 8.30pm. Flat.
[via Pixie Market]
I don’t think it’s the best time for me to be eyeballing netted silken tops, with 2500 words still hanging over my head. But whatever; it makes me happy. And being a happy essay-writer is much better than being an unhappy one.
Two days to D-Day.
Two hours of sleep.
Two more cans of Redbull than I should have downed.
ALL FOR THESE TWO ESSAYS.
When you’re up to your ears with readings you don’t understand, alongside the task of writing an essay you don’t expect the professor to understand either… the best part of the day is painting your nails.
Mmkay. Just play along.
Because I miss my long, knotty hair.
Long knotty hair is excellent for flinging around in neat head swipes, cutting through the still air of morbid frustration that has now descended on me. Did I mention my second deadline?
From the hobo-looking girl and her infallible first love – Red Bull.
JUST FOR THIS ONE ESSAY ALONE, I’VE HANDWRITTEN ABOUT 18 SHEETS OF NOTES. THAT’S 36 PAGES OF SCRIBBLINGS FROM MY READINGS, WITH A WHOLE LOT OF STUFF THAT’S STILL UNWRITTEN.
IS IT WEIRD THEN THAT I DON’T KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN? OR HOW TO WRITE THE NEXT ESSAY AND EDIT THE ONE I JUST FINISHED WRITING? RED BULL? OR LUCOZADE, LIKE J SUGGESTS?
MCROBBIE: HOW NOW BROWN COW???
[DAUL KIM FOR CHANEL HAUTE JOAILLERIE, VIA FASHION HEROINE]
I PRETTY MUCH FEEL LIKE SINKING RIGHT NOW. IF ONLY I HAD A SHINY CHANEL TO GO DOWN WITH ME.
I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO TYPE IN CAPS BECAUSE THIS IS THE ONLY WAY WORDS LOOK ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE CRAP I AM PUTTING INTO MY ESSAYS.
I HAVEN’T SLEPT ALL NIGHT AND I THINK I’M JUST ABOUT TO PULL AN ERRRR, ALL-DAYER. LUCKS TO ME.
[Silver hammered knuckle ring by Fashionology]
THIS STUNNER ON MY FINGER IS COMPLETELY IN THE WAY OF THE OBSCENE AMOUNT OF NOTE-TAKING I’M DOING FOR MCROBBIE’S ESSAY.
BUT I’M SO SAD TO HAVE TO REMOVE IT. IT LOOKS LONELY ON THE LIBRARY’S WOODEN TABLE.
I’m really sorry if this blog has been thoroughly saturated with pictures of food. It’s just that when you spend 11 hours a day sitting your arse down either furiously typing away in front of an iMac or devouring as many books as your eyes will allow before they pop, only food will save your soul.
Elizabeth Wilson sure was right: The brain is in the gut. (sorry, that’s just one of my readings)
And when you can’t actually get any good food in your school situated in the armpit of London (Charlie’s words, not mine), you just click and click away to unearth gastronomic visuals that quicken your breathing quite audibly. Man, I’d love a good bowl of tonkotsu ramen with the perfect half-runny-half-chalky stewed eggs. But as you know, my search for this has been quite futile.