I’m so emotional lately. Not in a crying way (thank God), but in a really sappy way (curse you, Allah!). Weird. All, like, lovey-dovey in my head. Weird weird. Yes yes.
Four minutes past ten. I’m finally finished those gosh darned Art descriptions. Not even all of them. Four out of five (ain’t bad). Cézanne. Ughh. What a knob. The man cannot draw. Apologies to all you adoring Post-Impressionist fans out there, but he cannot draw or paint or understand perspective. Apparently his complete disregard for the principles behind good art mean he’s ‘innovative’ and exciting and other wonderful things. But I disagree. Look at this, in fairness:
No way is that chair supposed to be all the way up there, I don’t care what anyone says. There is no way you can be looking front on at that basket and the bits of fruit and yet be looking down from a great height at that chair. No way, José. Cézanne, you are a knob. Also, one of your still lives with Cupid makes that lovely little cherub look like he’s vomiting, Exorcist-style. Poor little cherub. Cézanne, you have ruined my life. Or, at the very least, my Tuesday evening.
Things are bad when I post a blog to give out about Paul Cézanne… Get a life, Emma.
Off to King Lear tomorrow. On screen. We be high-tech an’ stuff. I should go to sleep soon. Will so not be able to sit through two and a half hours of Shakespearean English at ten in the morning otherwise.
I have never been so bored of a school night in my life (probably). I desperately want a real life conversation.
Getting hair done Friday. What’ll happen is this: she’ll ruin my hair, poor Olive. (Yes, Lisa is just a blurry bit of my past. I’ve moved on to sexy, apparently quite nice Olive.) Olive will ruin my hair because that’s what hairdressers do to my hair. She’ll ruin my hair and I won’t complain and I’ll get used to it in a few days and alter my fringe along the way. That is what happens. That is not the case for my mother who weeps for about a week every single time she gets her hair cut. Every single time. It baffles me, really it does.
Anyway, I’ll be blonde, rather than yellow (thank you, Mother, for your heart-warming honesty), and I’ll be split-end free. Which is very exciting. Full fringe versus side fringe, though? The question on everyone’s lips.
First time in quite a while that I don’t have anything to worry about. (Though obviously I’m still worrying. About everything. You name it. Seriously. Wound up to the fucking last. Story of my life.)
That mid-term break would seriously want to hurry up. I know I’m not really doing very much in school or out of school at the moment, but the tension is killing me. So much to do and I just can’t seem to get started. Help? :/
I’m actually rather sleepy now, even though I was in bed ‘til well after twelve today. I need to cop myself on. I’m wide awake when it’s time to go to bed, and pretty much almost narcoleptic the rest of the time. Sleeping tablets for the nighttimes and Berocca for the daytimes? Sounds tempting, though not very healthy. In any case, I’m on far too many tablets as it is. I am remembering to take them lately too, which is an achievement. I should get, like, five thousand experience for that alone, yeah?
Is it weird that I sort of want braces? Not on my teeth, like. The trouser ones.
I seriously need fresh air. I don’t even know what I’m waffling on about at this stage.
And this post is probably riddled in trite phrases and clichés as well as poor grammar and a general pointlessness. Oh well.
So long! (Agus go raibh maith agat don iasc go leor.)