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.. bluuurgh
My Music and Gender essay was crap. I don't know if I mentioned it here, but it was a Choose Your Own Topic essay, and I always have trouble choosing a topic. Cast your minds back to last year's Music and Media essay on The Black Parade; remember how truly fucked I thought I was, because I was still without a question with under a week to write it? Well, this time I only decided on my topic the Saturday before the Wednesday it was due, couldn't start researching for it until the Monday, and didn't start writing it until Tuesday afternoon/evening. And against all odds, it would have been in on time, too (i.e. by 4 o'clock) if I hadn't had a specialist's appointment scheduled for 11am that I didn't have until 1pm, and didn't get home from until 2.
Which reminds me - I need to get a blood test.
Which reminds me - I need to see a real doctor. And possibly get another blood test. We'll see.
In other news, I didn't sleep last night. Well, not properly. I was wide awake until 2am, and then I guess I sort of drifted off, but I kept waking up because I kept rolling on to my right side and hurting my still-healing wounds. The worst was when, in tossing and turning, I scraped my right elbow against my pillow and opened the biggest of the four wounds there. Needless to say, I woke right up again. I now have a rather bloodied pillow and fitted sheet, too. It always amazes me how much I can bleed in the night.
In even othererly news, I might be going back to Purple tonight (if I can find an appropriate bandage for my elbow - it has to say to people "I'm so hardcore that I party, even when physically damaged" while also saying "I'm not so damaged that I'll be forever scarred. Though if I am, I will tell you my war story [I was making love in a field and was rushed by a bull (Cartledge, Peter 2007 p.1)]". Such a bandage may be too hard to find, so I'll probably just go with whatever flouro bandaid I can find at work. Tee hee - bad pun.
I'll have to leave a note or something though. Everyone's at work and won't be home until at least 6ish, so I've got no way to tell people I'm going out before I go to work (dad's at Grown Up Work and mum's teaching, and I never know when her breaks are so I can't call, plus she never notices her phone beeping telling her she hasa message, so...). Because I only decided to go last night when Peter told me that James would most likely be there (90% chance). So...
And I think my cat has lost his mind. Poor thing. Walking around meowing at inanimate objects, asking them to feed him when, clearly, he has been fed, does not bode well for his sanity.
My Music and Gender essay was crap. I don't know if I mentioned it here, but it was a Choose Your Own Topic essay, and I always have trouble choosing a topic. Cast your minds back to last year's Music and Media essay on The Black Parade; remember how truly fucked I thought I was, because I was still without a question with under a week to write it? Well, this time I only decided on my topic the Saturday before the Wednesday it was due, couldn't start researching for it until the Monday, and didn't start writing it until Tuesday afternoon/evening. And against all odds, it would have been in on time, too (i.e. by 4 o'clock) if I hadn't had a specialist's appointment scheduled for 11am that I didn't have until 1pm, and didn't get home from until 2.
Which reminds me - I need to get a blood test.
Which reminds me - I need to see a real doctor. And possibly get another blood test. We'll see.
In other news, I didn't sleep last night. Well, not properly. I was wide awake until 2am, and then I guess I sort of drifted off, but I kept waking up because I kept rolling on to my right side and hurting my still-healing wounds. The worst was when, in tossing and turning, I scraped my right elbow against my pillow and opened the biggest of the four wounds there. Needless to say, I woke right up again. I now have a rather bloodied pillow and fitted sheet, too. It always amazes me how much I can bleed in the night.
In even othererly news, I might be going back to Purple tonight (if I can find an appropriate bandage for my elbow - it has to say to people "I'm so hardcore that I party, even when physically damaged" while also saying "I'm not so damaged that I'll be forever scarred. Though if I am, I will tell you my war story [I was making love in a field and was rushed by a bull (Cartledge, Peter 2007 p.1)]". Such a bandage may be too hard to find, so I'll probably just go with whatever flouro bandaid I can find at work. Tee hee - bad pun.
I'll have to leave a note or something though. Everyone's at work and won't be home until at least 6ish, so I've got no way to tell people I'm going out before I go to work (dad's at Grown Up Work and mum's teaching, and I never know when her breaks are so I can't call, plus she never notices her phone beeping telling her she hasa message, so...). Because I only decided to go last night when Peter told me that James would most likely be there (90% chance). So...
And I think my cat has lost his mind. Poor thing. Walking around meowing at inanimate objects, asking them to feed him when, clearly, he has been fed, does not bode well for his sanity.