Sorry to disappoint, but not a lot. It's like the last eleven days are one surreal blur just leaving me with fragmented memories of smiles, laughter and laziness. So, it's February now, and it's threatening to snow up north, yes we do exist, even though we may not be under water like our capital. I've spent my weekends, as usual, out drinking, making new friends and reigniting others. In absolute honesty, nothing life-changing has happened in my absence. I'm increasingly burried in a stack of uni work that keeps mounting, and I keep actively ignoring in a desperate bid for it to disappear. Unlucky for me, I'm falling behind. I've felt rubbish for a few days, totally run down, and yet again, my immune system refused to pick up the slack once more after another weekend of bingeing, eating and staying up too late, hence why I spent the remainder of the weekend tucked up in bed, doped up, feeling utterly sorry for my miserable self.
Recovering now, I'm greeted unwelcomingly with looming uni deadlines. Anyone who underestimates second year's difficulties, like me, will be sadly mistaken when it rears it's ugly head. Part of me feels like I'm stifled, it's like I can't breathe. I have too much reading to do, too much writing to delay, and too much sleep to catch up on. So, as well as this, I have something else that conjures up a feeling of dread deep inside my chest. I have six days left to settle on my module options for third year. I'm very indecisive anyway, but this is like torture. I kind of feel like I'm writing my own death warrant, carving out my own failure or something. It's important, and yet, there's no telling what will happen. Maybe I can hide from reality for one more day at least? Yes, that sounds very tempting.