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… that teen magazines which illustrate four wonderful ways to make somebody love you through the use of make-up are really not my thing, and that it’s time to eschew them with a firm hand. Or, until next time I miss a bus and want to pass the time. Ah, will power. Although it’s a failure when it comes to trashy, glossy literature, it’s doing the job when it comes to dragging me from bed to laptop after an accidental nap. It’s been one of those days where all I want to do is bake, and my mother’s in the kitchen. So, instead, I’m gazing thoughtless at the pint glass filled with daffodils on my desk, an adorable attempt to cheer me up on my Mum’s part in the wake of my exam results. English went well, but I actually paid 11 pounds and spent two weeks revising to do a History re-sit which I ultimately got less marks in than first time round. There’s nothing quite like realising you’ve wasted your time enormously to put you in a fabulous mood. But, never mind – pressure does wonders for my work ethic, it’ll all be fine.
The holiday to Malia is eventually booked! Regardless of the gender imbalance (I am entirely outmanned) it should be pretty wild. A week away will do me a world of good and, if last year is anything to go by, I will have a wonderful time with some… interesting people. Two of my best friends, a boy who I’m fairly certain is metamorphosing into a bear and another who appears to be a dental hygiene fetishist. Must admit, I hear fetishism and Macleans is not my first mental port of call. Perhaps that’s for the best!
I’ve been walking around like a zombie all afternoon… a zombie with particularly eccentric garb. You don’t see too many of them in AC/DC t-shirts and purple polka-dot bottoms. I would be far more open to the apocalypse if you did.
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