Remember me? Blond, obsessive, tremendous piece of Fun? No?
Understandable, I can't even remember the last time I wrote anything here. Although I think it might have been about Arcade Fire being a good band (revolutionary opinions as always).
Well anyway, I woke up this morning, remembered I have a week off uni and went about the day as expected. Among the massive amount of things that got done, these are the highlights:
Got my national insurance number. Well, applied for it rather, answering annoying questions from an annoying woman.
Power napped. Well and good for about 90 minutes, happily dribbling all over my pillow.
Ate jam straight from the jar.
Biked to King's Road only to get a muffin. Just to learn the same lesson twice - muffins always disappoint.
Packed my bags for Sweden.
Did half of my laundry.
And then, when I felt that my quote for achievement was far exceeded I found myself sat in the kitchen wondering what to do.
So here I am writing about my day, secretly hoping to inspire enough guilt in my guts to get off my ass and do something. Maybe study for the ginormous test I've got on Saturday, maybe come up with something clever to make a carefully crafted design piece about, maybe realising that smoking, eating and drinking excessively isn't really "recovering from shin infection", it's probably quite the opposite. Maybe I should just wash my hair.
But I know the inevitable outcome of this. Since this week has been all about falling back into old patterns anyway (some good, some I really hoped would be gone) I can do nothing but give in. Alas, it's time to dust off that old and comforting phrase that has got me all the way here in some miraculous way.
I'll sort my life out tomorrow.
Now, if you'll excuse me I've got three sofas upstairs I simply must make the most of.
All yours, Fan Fan