You know what I’m sure you’ll totally maybe enjoy and I’m going to do? Post unfinished posts. I know it’s kinda douchey and lazy but I’m still jet-lagged, so that makes every irresponsible behaviour I do make sense. I’m sure I should be all “Raw! Unedited! UNSEEN FOOTAGE OF LINDSEY LOHAN MY MIND!”, but I know that ultimately I’d be lying. Because power words like “raw” suggest that what I’m about to post is “interesting”.

And we all know that pretending that my posts are “interesting” is a bit like saying that “Hitler was a rainbows and kittens kinda guy”. Sort of. I don’t really remember what I’m writing about anymore.

**

After some google surfing I fell into open.salon.com. I don’t really understand what open.salon.com is, but I do know that there are blogs over there. I started to read a couple and then I died a tiny bit.

Up until this point I was all “I LOVE THIS WRITER! SHE MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!” and then I vomited a little bit because foie gras is only eaten by people who don’t have beating hearts. For all the metaphorical and literal implications there.

I make it very clear to people that my beliefs about food, my veganism, is about me. Not you. It’s not my responsibility to ever tell you what you should or shouldn’t do; I’m sure you’re capable of making decisions, y’know? But there are some things, like foie gras, that make me want to hit people over the head. With a cast-iron skillet. Sorry for the political message, but there’s nothing more repugnant in the world of food than claiming that the livers of almost-continuously force-fed geese are delicious.

It’s just not cool. Just. Not. Unlike skillets. And head bashing. I know you totally agree.

**

Let’s pretend for a second that whilst I was in Canada I got a mosquito bite in my left arm.

And let’s pretend that this bite happened to be in one of the moles on my arm. And that I scratched the bite uncontrollably over the time of having it, until it bled.

And let’s pretend, just for a moment, that this bite-in-a-mole happened to turn into a teeny-tiny scab because of the frantic scratching I’d done.

And that this scab perhaps came off.

And now there’s a small crater in my arm, hypothetically.

If this were to happen, would this mean that my arm is now horrifically scarred for life? If this really had happened, which it obviously has or has not, HAVE I MAIMED MYSELF?

And if this were to happen and the small crater in my arm were to release some sort of glue-fluid that has stuck every nearby hair to the surface of my skin without the ability to pull them up, would you perceive this to be a good sign, or a horrifically bad sign that I’ve just caused some form of deep vain thrombosis mange gout creation?

DOES THIS MEAN THAT I HAVE HYPOTHETICAL MANGE?

**

You guys, I DID it. I defeated the roundabout. When we came back from Canada I was woefully aware (you know, after I reversed into a bush and everything) that my driving skills had gotten worse. So I decided that I needed to go and practice some stuff — including main roads and roundabouts.

And you guys, I totally pwned my car and all of its desire to have me crash into pedestrians. Like, totally pwned.

So, like, it was 9:45pm and I did practically kill myself anyway. Because when I went ’round the roundabout I then went through the next one and then I became totally aware that I was going in a direction I had never been towards before, ever. And towards somewhere I didn’t even know existed. At night. On my own. On an unbusy road. CAN YOU BEGIN TO FATHOM THE DANGER I WAS IN?

Serious danger. So I went all the way ’round another roundabout and came back home and everything was okay except I was hungry and we didn’t have a lot of food. Which is a bit like being on a non-descript road in the middle of nowhere going towards somewhere called ‘Sleaford’. Like, where the hell is Sleaford? WHERE THE HELL?

**

Results Day happened. And by ‘Results Day’, I clearly mean the day where the emotional process of “I’m fine -> Want to vomit -> This level of anxiety was previously unknown -> Oh look! I did okay! -> No, wait a second -> Wait, WHAT?! -> I want to die -> Well, okay, they are alright I suppose, and I got into university -> Shit. University. I FORGOT ABOUT THAT. -> Oye. Do I even want to go to university?” occurs.

And it wasn’t even pretty. Although having a car severely, severely helped, as I didn’t have to deal with The Madre snatching my results from me the moment I got them*. But it just was not pretty at all, ‘cuz I wanted to be all subtle about it but then people kept talking to me and I was being all nice and stuff but secretly I was just trying to run away. Like when you need to go the toilet really badly and then someone talks to you about something that’s really important to them so you don’t want to disappear but you sort of have to anyway? That.

And then it all kind of settled in and life still feels about as crap as before and my friend Jade got into Cambridge. And she was featured in the newspaper. And honestly? A part of me slightly hates her as her results make me feel like I’m small enough to squish with a shoe. Though I’m still really happy that she got in, don’t get me wrong. It’s that in-between thing where you sort of love someone and sort of one to stab them in the kidney. That’s where I am.

**

So now that I’m going to university I have a war going on inside me. And by “war”, I actually just mean that there’s this weird swish thing going on between feeling ridiculously anxious/frustrated/mildly depressed and somewhat excited.

It’s like, you know when you pour something that’s quite thick into water and the thing sort of expands a bit but then doesn’t and it’s all sort of swirling around and moving about but nothing is really happening but the two things just sort of move around and take up more space than the other for a bit and then don’t? Well that’s how this feels. Sort of.

The other day I received this big-ass packet of Edinburgh university-related sheets and letters and things. This would be awesome sauce, except instead of being all “Yeah! INSIGHT!” it’s actually just more like eight lists of 20 points listing all the things I have to before I get here. And there are more letters to come. So I’m all “Hurray! Overwhelm!”.

**

I totally have at least 12 more things to say but I’m about to reach 1000 words and more than 1000 words is just not a barrel of awesome sauce.

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