So, my knuckles hurt, or the base of my fingers, I don’t really know what to call it, I’ve got RSI of the last few bones in your hands that aren’t actually your fingers, that’s what it feels like (as you can tell I know a lot about RSI *sceptical look*). Thankfully RSI isn’t coming up in my exam.
I’m talking gibberish. I have today written a poem (no really) and some lyrics (just out of interest, to see if I could write a song if I tried). It has a tune and all. Not that any of you are ever going to hear/see it written, performed or played. Seriously.
I have also done more work in one day than I’ve done in a while, and to reward myself, took a walk into town in the middle of the day and realised that ‘the local shops’ also includes a number of decent high street stores, a department store (Harvey Nicks I think thought I might be wrong, I spent most of the time I was aware of it being in it and not staring at the shop frontage, as one does with shops, of course), bought a pack of ink cartridges, a pack of those gorgeous fineliner coloured pens that will come in handy for underlining and such tomorrow, some coral nail varnish and my latest essential – hair wax. Part fashion, part Thinking Woman’s Hair Grip, use a little bit and my hair looks artfully messy, just a bit more and it looks greasy and horrendous but at least my fringe is nowhere near my damn face thankyou-very-much. And some brown mascara. My black is horrendous – it’s all Screaming Obvious Insane Volume and I look like I’m wearing drag queen falsies because as it is I already have enough eyelash growth to make a camel jealous. Camels have massive eyelashes. Hadn’t you noticed? To make you all hate me even more, my eyelashes curl naturally, so I’ve never used eyelash curlers in my life, although I doubt I would even if my eyelashes weren’t that curly. They look like some kind of medieval torture device – or a surgical implement from the 21st century but actually if you look at these things quite often it’s hard to tell which is which.
Perhaps that’s why I never did make it into medicine. I’d end up thumbscrewing people instead of removing their appendices, or putting them on the rack when really they just wanted a kidney transplant.
It’s saying stuff like that which means I’ll never get any kind of respectable job. Anyway, tomorrow is hopefully going to be pretty-coloured-pens day. For now, though, back to the desk, the hard graft, the knuckle-RSI, and the desperate attempt to cheer myself up by dressing unpractically fashionably each day just because I can.
One week to go. Less than that, actually, now.