I feel like I haven’t posted properly in a while so this is an update to the masses of people who care about the goings on in the life of Emma Norris. It won’t be very well written and probably not very informative either so if you like reading my waffle, you’ll love these next few paragraphs.
School is going a bit downhill lately. The atmosphere is amazing and I don’t think I’ve gone a day without developing a pain in my stomach from laughing at the most retarded accents and quips we manage to come up with. I have a different voice for each one of my friends, ranging from Biddy out the Coolnamuck Road with Kate, Gravelly Old Person with Gillian and her Fa’ Hole, and Deraldine F*ck the Fingies with Hazel. My life is defined by these accents. I kid you not.
However, on the actual academic side of school, things aren’t quite so hilarious. I’m managing to do little or no homework every night and just about get away with it. I think this makes me a bad person. An ungrateful person, at the very least. You know, some people don’t get the opportunities I get and yet I throw mine away, wasting valuable study hours every night texting and reading wow-factor web stories. Will this better equip me for life after the Leaving Cert. (if I ever get that far)? Probably not. Must change tactics. This will be a study weekend. I promise.
My school bag is bulging, crammed full of books that I will maybe glance at over the next two days. I’ve gone many a weekend so far in Sixth Year without even opening my school bag. This also contributes to me being a bad person, I imagine. But this weekend will be different. I will know German grammar inside down and upside the cranium. I will consult past Chemistry exam papers and I will learn and then test my knowledge of definitions. I will revise Wuthering Heights notes that I’ve made so far this year, and make more on chapters I’ve missed.
That was me being specific, by the way. You know the way they tell you to be specific about what you’re going to study ‘cause if you say you’re going to do everything, more than likely you’ll do nothing. In my case, that’d be true. So that there is my checklist. And if I manage to get that much done, I’ll be happy.
Oh, also, Irish oral questions on TY and my paisean for faisean. And teaching myself the premise of ‘Bímse Buan ar Buart Gach Ló’. And if anyone can offer any insight on the latter (in layman’s terms), I’d be eternally grateful as I have not a notion of what the poem is about.
I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should start sticking to the same subject in each blog post, rather than jumping from topic to topic with meaningless banter about feelings and that. Opinions?
This one will be about school and Friday evenings (this Friday evening in particular).
On the subject of Friday evenings, I don’t like mine being interrupted. I really do adore tidying my room, consuming copious amounts of carbohydrates, having a shower, crawling into my jammies and onto my bed and watching repeats of comedy stuff on Dave and Comedy Central and falling asleep with the telly on. Very bad for the environment (and me supposed to be on the Green School’s Committee?), but I like the safety of the noise and the light in my dark room. It’s just… nice. Traditional, even.
I don’t like doing my Friday’s differently. I don’t like going places on Friday nights. I’m normally too tired to function and/ or enjoy myself and I’ve been known to ruin the proceedings for second and third parties involved. I’m not a sociable Friday person. I do miss mine and Aisling’s Friday nights though. I miss her coming over and us watching Skins while drinking tea and eating junk food and curling up on the sofa… Gosh, I do adore Aisling. Roll on Skins Series Four.
This Friday – as in, today and tonight – I went to St Vincent de Paul. For the first time since, like, last May or June. I ought to be ashamed of myself. And I sort of am since I discovered the sudden influx of girls younger than me and, like, y’know, teeny-boppery, into SVP. Breaks my heart, turns my stomach, etc.. Really I should be pleased because numbers were dwindling, alright, especially with loads of people gone off to college now and the rest of us in Sixth Year and unlikely to be very committed to the cause this year. Or maybe that’s only me. But whatever. Basically, this new generation of helping hands will pick up the pieces when we can’t be bothered to stoop so low. Does that sound very obnoxious? Fuck it.
It is now fifteen minutes past nine. The plan is this: make tea and butter bread (should I feel so inclined in the next half hour), climb into bed and watch telly. Perhaps send some heartwarming text messages to my dear friends too. Amy, in particular, apologising for accidentally pushing her over outside SVP. Hilarious. Earned me two high fives. But rather cruel. And an accident. Poor girl.
Au revoir. x