Skippable, except for the rec.
La la la haven't been going to bed until like four-thirty lately and it SHOWS la la la went to a party last night and was one of two people not drinking spiked eggnog or doing Jello shots (which I had to have explained to me, seriously people VODKA IN JELLO ARE YOU MAD) or just drinking straight vodka la la la I should be STUDYING.
So there was a spider trying to crawl up my leg in Latin the other day and I protested its squishing and NOBODY LISTENED TO ME whyyyyy the spider wasn't a black widow or brown recluse so nobody would die if it bit them (probably, they might be really allergic) and if somebody had opened a window I'd have just put the thing outside. Wusses.
And the necrosis on my leg is still not going away! But on the upside it is also not getting bigger, and I have a swollen red thing on my hip that has been there for two months that I think is also a spiderbite. WHY, SPIDERS? I defend you! And my nose is bruised from Sara accidentally hitting me in the face with a chunk of ice. Wah. Ow. I still think she should buy me something to make up for it. *She* thinks I shouldn't have tried to dodge.
Talked about emo music at party and mentioned cyanei, although not by that name, and they were all 'oh, is she emo?' and I went 'HE!' and I have been playing this Panic! song over and over and over again. Argh. Also Shiny Toy Guns.
Hate finals week, hate hate hate, and what kills me is that if I do badly it's my own stupid fault. I could've passed this semester with a 4.0 if I'd been willing to work but nooooo, I keep getting Cs on my psych tests because I don't freaking *study* and then I finish the tests in fifteen minutes and don't double-check my answers even though I have more than an hour left over. And I don't study for the Latin vocab tests, but I'm pretty sure I still have an A there. And I only took thirteen credit hours *because* I wanted an easy semester, something to get used to. And I can do this, I know I can, I can write these essays (the Blount test is two essays, the English test is two essays and sixty questions, the Psych test is either one essay or two and sixty questions re: essays I might get to pick which ones I want and I REALLY SHOULD KNOW THIS, Latin will be *easy*, somebody shoot me already) if I'll just start prepping for them.
If I fail, if I so much as make less than a B on any of these exams, I will have nothing to blame but me, and even Psych 105 can tell me why so it's obvious, and I know this is dumb and I'm doing it ANYWAY. If anybody sees me online starting Monday, please to smack me and make me go study.
Except that my Psych teacher decided it would be cool to have the final at EIGHT IN THE FREAKING MORNING, and so I have to kill him. After I pass. With flying colors. I hate my brain.
*sets alarm for seven so that she will wake up on Monday and thus go to bed early that night and wake up on time on Tuesday, or maybe she should just not sleep and go to bed after her final*
Instarec of joy and YAY: A preliminary examination of potential significant others (last saved by T. Drake) is utterly beauteous. Go. Read. Squee. My joy cannot adequately be expressed by any forms of communication known to man. I. The title *alone*!
So there was a spider trying to crawl up my leg in Latin the other day and I protested its squishing and NOBODY LISTENED TO ME whyyyyy the spider wasn't a black widow or brown recluse so nobody would die if it bit them (probably, they might be really allergic) and if somebody had opened a window I'd have just put the thing outside. Wusses.
And the necrosis on my leg is still not going away! But on the upside it is also not getting bigger, and I have a swollen red thing on my hip that has been there for two months that I think is also a spiderbite. WHY, SPIDERS? I defend you! And my nose is bruised from Sara accidentally hitting me in the face with a chunk of ice. Wah. Ow. I still think she should buy me something to make up for it. *She* thinks I shouldn't have tried to dodge.
Talked about emo music at party and mentioned cyanei, although not by that name, and they were all 'oh, is she emo?' and I went 'HE!' and I have been playing this Panic! song over and over and over again. Argh. Also Shiny Toy Guns.
Hate finals week, hate hate hate, and what kills me is that if I do badly it's my own stupid fault. I could've passed this semester with a 4.0 if I'd been willing to work but nooooo, I keep getting Cs on my psych tests because I don't freaking *study* and then I finish the tests in fifteen minutes and don't double-check my answers even though I have more than an hour left over. And I don't study for the Latin vocab tests, but I'm pretty sure I still have an A there. And I only took thirteen credit hours *because* I wanted an easy semester, something to get used to. And I can do this, I know I can, I can write these essays (the Blount test is two essays, the English test is two essays and sixty questions, the Psych test is either one essay or two and sixty questions re: essays I might get to pick which ones I want and I REALLY SHOULD KNOW THIS, Latin will be *easy*, somebody shoot me already) if I'll just start prepping for them.
If I fail, if I so much as make less than a B on any of these exams, I will have nothing to blame but me, and even Psych 105 can tell me why so it's obvious, and I know this is dumb and I'm doing it ANYWAY. If anybody sees me online starting Monday, please to smack me and make me go study.
Except that my Psych teacher decided it would be cool to have the final at EIGHT IN THE FREAKING MORNING, and so I have to kill him. After I pass. With flying colors. I hate my brain.
*sets alarm for seven so that she will wake up on Monday and thus go to bed early that night and wake up on time on Tuesday, or maybe she should just not sleep and go to bed after her final*
Instarec of joy and YAY: A preliminary examination of potential significant others (last saved by T. Drake) is utterly beauteous. Go. Read. Squee. My joy cannot adequately be expressed by any forms of communication known to man. I. The title *alone*!