"There's always someone else having a worse day... like being chained to a wall in someone's sex dungeon."

So I just got out of the bath, and it made that suctioning noise that makes you cringe. You know that noise? Maybe you don't, but it's a kind of sucking, suctioning noise of water draining that happens at odd Tourettes-esque bursts and makes you feel slightly uneasy and embarrassed, like something dreadfully awkward is happening that you're not REALLY at fault for, but you ARE related to.
I felt embarrassed. I felt embarrassed FOR the bathtub.

Anyway, the point of my bathtub rant is probably due to the fact that I've been sucked into, as the french say, L'Exam Study Void.
I spent the entire day today listening to 100 different excerpts from approx. forty different pieces, over and over again, trying to differentiate between them. When I wasn't doing that I was researching the composers of them.
Suffice to say, that if I have to listen to one more minimalist/serialist/pre-emptive electronic piece with a soprano shrieking over the top, I will attempt to headbutt myself into a fine paste.

The other issue with studying is also obviously procrastination. There are far too many things I don't want to consider the amount of time I've spent doing... them.. I don't... want to... consider the amount of time I've spent doing things... too... much... I don't --- LOOK, YOU FUCKING GET THE POINT, GO AND PUT A SQUIGGLY GREEN LINE UNDER IT AND CONSIDER REVISING IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM.

But anyway. For your reading pleasure, I will consider the things I don't want to consider that I've done too much of that shouldn't be things you should do much of at all.
Yeah. We got there in the end.

LIST OF THE THINGS I JUST MENTIONED ABOVE THAT I DON'T WANT TO WRITE AGAIN.

Playing Procrastination Tetris

So I got this macbook about six months ago. It and I besties. We became better besties when I actually learned how to use it properly and got a bunch of programs installed on it that were halfway useful. Anyway, the thing is, with these programs I got tetris. I haven't played Tetris since I was about seven and spent time at my Dutch grandparents' house, playing the games on my Papa's ancient computer. Interesting fact: Being yelled at and berated by a morbidly obese man with a combover and glasses in a some kind of thickly veiled version of English rife with Dutch swear words because you didn't put the right shape in the right play, while a small and feisty elderly lady in clogs force feeds you ostrich meat and Dutch liquorice is not fun for anyone, in any country, regardless of your heritage. And I shit you not about this previous description.
Anyway. So it just sat there on my desktop for a while, and I didn't think about it. Until I had to write a 3000 word essay. It started with one game. "I'll just see how I go", I thought (foolishly). I, of course, lost at high speed. But then I needed more.
The thing they don't tell you about Tetris is, it's like crack. That should be the tagline for it, in fact: Tetris - JUST LIKE CRACK.
You need it ALL THE TIME. You need to beat that last score, there are bright coloured blocks falling, FASTER AND FASTER, AND IF YOU DON'T SLOT THEM INTO A GEOMETRICALLY CORRECT PLACE, FAILURE IS IMMINENT. YOU MUST PLAY. YOU MUST WIN. But you can't. The battle is endless.
The other warning I can offer about Tetris is: it is scarily similar to a gambling addiction. Quit while you're ahead and the loan shark hasn't broken your knee caps.

Procrastination Weepin' and Gorgin'

Oh, how I wish this one weren't true.
But alas, it is.
If a career could be made out of weeping and eating (and yes, I do mean this SIMULTANEOUSLY. You cannot just WEEP and NOT GORGE. It doesn't work like that. The full effect can only be achieved by simultaneously gorging oneself and crying like Bridget Jones while you lament about all men being bastards through a mouthful of cheesecake). ANYWAY. If a career could be made out of weeping and eating, I would be the CEO. If there were a weeping and eating test, I WOULD BLITZ IT.
JT, I could cry you a river, baby, and pack my sinuses with camembert simultaneously.
Okay, so let me straighten things out: I don't actually cry THAT much. Just like, contrary to popular belief, I don't actually vom EVERY TIME I DRINK. The nickname "Vomasaur" is at LEAST mildly deceptive.
Also, I am not a thousand pound Chunk Monster. I just really like food, but my actually body type could best be described as "frail, jagged and birdlike".
The thing is, at high levels of stress, and anxiety, and general world bitterness, I occasionally have finished my day at uni, bought a block of chocolate, and wept in my car on the peak hour drive home, while listening to "Bittersweet Symphony" and stuffing my head with Cadbury.
Yeah. judge me.
But when I get my PHD in Weepin' and Gorgin', THEN WHO'LL BE LAUGHING?!??!!
A: not me. I will be doing the aforementioned.

Procrastination General Screaming and Bitterness.

Depending on who you speak to, I seem to come across in a number of different ways:
1. Friendly, exceptionally hyperactive and bubbly.
2. Vaguely careless, loud, overly sweary.
3. Generally bitter towards everything and everyone, including (and especially) inanimate objects and random passers by, and excessively sarcastic.

Sometimes I mix them up, just to keep things fresh.
I have spent many a day recently in my stompin' and clompin' boots, and unnecessarily see-through/lacey-ridiculous clothing, glaring bitterly behind my sunglasses at innocent people in the street, and throwing back double shot coffee after double shot coffee.
A nice girl takes my change. EYES NARROW.
A charity worker asks for money. JAW CLENCHES.
A slight breeze blows a strand of hair out of place. INSTANT DOOM FOR ALL MANKIND, ONE DOES NOT SIMPLY WALK INTO MORDOR, ETC. ETC. FIERY EYE OF DOOM.

Anyway. I really, REALLY need the exam period to end.
Well. Right now I have to go write about some Australian composer who essentially wrote a piece about the Northern Territory that spends the entire time wanking itself off with Australian culture.

YOU HAVE A GOOD NIGHT.
xx Anna