I HAVE MY LIFE BACK!
It’s been so long I’ve almost forgotten how to write on this thing. It might have something to do with being temporarily stunned by the blitz of fame I had, along with the other student bloggers, on the Imperial home page. Or it could be that I just had my second year exams and was scraping every second from every day in order to revise.
Although, for the most part, it didn’t quite play out like that.
Unfortunately what was generally happening was that I woke up with every intention to revise but my consciousness ended up disposed of elsewhere. Where exactly is anyone’s guess. In order to find the answer to this question, and to provide some light relief to the numerous others who are going through the godforsaken minefield of second year exams, I have documented the start a typical day from the last month I spent back at home trying in vain to revise…
7.00am Alarm set on phone goes off, approximately on time. Cannot for the life of me work out what is going on, nor where I am, as am still half asleep. Not entirely sure why it is necessary to be up this early. Decide to award myself a temporary snooze in order to allow coherent thought patterns.
7.06am Clearly this has not been long enough for me to effectively “snooze,” and so I’m not sure why my alarm has decided to go off at this particular time.
7.12am Hrrrm. I think I see a pattern emerging.
7.18am Suddenly remember that I had inexplicably set the snooze period on my alarm for six minutes. Throw phone at wall.
7.24am Alarm goes off again. Realise the tactical error in throwing the phone to the other side of the room, as it necessitates getting out of bed to silence the damn thing.
9.00am Awake in a bizarre half-asleep dream where I have successfully broken the record for the longest mobile phone based snooze pattern, to an audience of well wishers and a Guinness Book of Records adjudicator. Slowly wake up, slightly scarred by the whole experience.
10.15am Have now been sitting in my pants staring at a page of anatomy notes whilst being distracted by facebook and emails. Decide that eating pate on crumpets with orange juice was not my stomach’s first choice for breakfast. Brain is overwhelmed by memories of orange juice increasing iron absorption, and stomach decides enough is enough.
10.16am Hurriedly head to the toilet.
11.36am Still there.
11.45am Leave toilet, and feel that a shower may motivate me.
2pm Have spent the last two hours machine gunning down innocent bystanders on the playstation. I sincerely think that my brother could not have worse timing when it comes to purchasing video entertainment equipment. Still, there is something rather satisfying about taking a tank and steaming through virtual streets, destroying anything and everything in sight.
2.11pm Somewhat concerned about my mental state. Relocate to the garden. Watch cat play with butterflies. After being sufficiently calmed, crisis of career looms. Not entirely sure I want to be studying life this for the rest of my foreseeable life, with the added bonus of bodily fluids and late nights.
2.20pm Finally start revising the joys of psychology. Take an online test that tells me I have an ultimate male brain and am therefore on the autistic spectrum. Tell a friend who promptly laughs at me. Consider starting legal action against them under some obscure disability legislation.
So as you can see, completely productive. For the rest of the afternoon I did manage to get a few solid hours of revision in, powered mainly by strong black coffees, a whimsical sense of bravado whilst staring over the horizon into Croydon, and listening to Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart” somewhere in the region of three hundred and eighty seven times. It is a strangely rousing song.
And so now I am back in Fulham, and the regular trials and tribulations of student life have started once again in earnest. In order to recoup the bank holiday weekend at Easter I lost through revision, I took a detour out to a club in Piccadilly, with the rest of the year. I almost didn’t go because I was so tired. I woke up the next morning with an empty pocket, a hateful stomach, a splitting headache and the grim realisation through photographic evidence that I am losing my hair at a rate previously unknown to man. Half-price Champagne cocktails, it seems, are always never a good idea.
Although I am now on four day weeks and half days, I still don’t have it in me to concentrate. This is partially down to the fact I brought my old school XBox up to the flat, which has brought forth a new era of destroying aliens and watching two of my (female) friends try to fling the controller around in all directions in a vein attempt to stop the onslaught of bullets hurtling towards their character. I’m going to try and record her strangled screams, it’s a noise never before heard by man. Aside from that and the occasional trip to the dry cleaners I don’t really know where the time goes. Answers on a postcard.
And so normal service in my life resumes. Tomorrow shall come a post regarding a well known supermarket chain, and how close I came to headbutting the scanner on their automatic tills. I’m going to get some sleep; that is if my flatmate can stop burning her pork chops for long enough to stop screaming and setting the smoke alarms off for the tenth time.