Built from the wine up...

This week has been absurd. In a bad way. The bad sort of absurd which makes you want to ram your face into a wall untill it bleeds.

First off, I was pretty darned ill. By this I mean I was forced to take more than one day out of sixth form because I could not think straight or breathe. The middle day was spent trying to navigate my drugged up and unsightly way around Birmingham city and university alone, getting quite flustered but being too proud to show it. Things I saw on that little adventure:

• Razor points in the train toilets. Bloody ridiculous: anyone attempting some facial topiary on a train is asking for trouble and is lucky to leave with their nose still attached.
• A full grown man reading Eclipse ashamedly on the train. He was not remotely young. He was on Eclipse which sickeningly means he'd endured the first two books (and probably in an equally public manner) - shocking.
• Smiling at dashing sandwich dispensory staff gets you a sandwich - at standard price.
• Nobody at Birmingham knows where the English department is; apart from myself, and I found it as a fluke.

The morning was (as I attempted to text my dad) 'a hotbed of disaster', until I orientated myself, was given a cup of tea for free, and drowned my sorrows with a bit of shopping (new coloured pencils - score!)

The afternoon was lovely however, with a spicy-spicy mexican burrito and an outline of a gorgeous and enticing looking course. Also having somehow found time to chat to the Head of Admissions and encouraged him to reconsider the A-Level I already have, which he'd overlooked. Score Two!

Came home and went straight from the station to another station: the Fire Station. Learned about weapons of torture hitherto undescribable. Anything that fires iron filings and water so fast they can cut through a man is something to be avoided I say. Came home, crashed out, wept a little, dragged myself into the next day.

Was ill until I decided I couldn't afford to miss today so went into school to find myself faced with a number of prospects:

• Interview at Warwick which I still have yet to have any real feelings either dreadful or delighted about. Later discovered today was the deadline for the coursework and faced the pressure by churning out a commentary in two hours, sending Mr Anderson a mildly freaked out e-mail entitled 'PAINFULLY URGENT' and posting the bloody thing.
• Art that is 'unmarkable' because frankly there's not enough of it.
• The need to summon up some form of title and inspiration for History Coursework.
• Chasing the world about changing the date of my exams because of aforementioned interview which, for some reason involved talking to no less than 5 people about it.
• Nobody seeming to know anything about an essay we were most definitely set.
• Latin certificate - yay!

This evening was a delerious haze of writing frantically, arranging, posting and drinking a nice amount of wine. Decisory factor here: wine makes my life.  ALSO, acquired Radiohead's new album and was grateful to be able to zone out to it after sending off the portfolio from hell. Every cloud, eh?

As to the situation now, I am sitting slightly drunk in full-body bunnyrabbit pajamas, lazing about and listening to Radiohead. Awesome.

Grabbing adulthood by the horns.

Today, thus far, has been one of my newly established 'admin days'. This, I believe, is a very important part of adult behaviour which I have never really had to face much before.

In the past few weeks, I have had e-mails coming out of my ears demanding my presence here, here and here. My dad also bought an unprecedented amount of tickets to shows and functions and things for Christmas presents, so already my calendar is overflowing.

Anyone who knows me will probably know this is very odd - I tend to be the one with little going on, who can say very quickly off-hand whether she's free one day or another. No more, apparently.

So I have spent a while organising my calendar, sorting it out with a diary, and filling in forms and e-mailing people about things. It's freaky, and I've had to put on a tweed blazer just to put me in the right mind-set.

I have also, as part of The Month of No Procrastination (i.e. January) FINALLY sent off my Driving License application, with the right money, with the right photos, documents and various approvals of people who, worryingly, consider me mature enough to drive. To drive, maybe - to fill in a simple form, throw it in an envelope with some cash and sufficient proof of my existence, not so much. Haha.

But the pressure of having to ask for lifts to absolutely every one of my sudden callings took its toll, and I have finally bitten the bullet.

Look out, kids. In about two weeks time, I cannot guarantee your safety on Her Majesty's roads. (The queen owns the roads, surely? Or is it the government? A debate for another, less busy day.)

Tata for now!