Somedays aren't yours at all

All of the books I need to write my essay are not in the library. Do you hear that? That is the sound of me giving up. Instead of pondering prehistory and the meaning of, I am considering having hot dogs for lunch and how long I'd have to save up for to go to Paris. It may take a while mostly because I am awful at the whole finance thing. But I'll make it there at some point. I mean I have been there twice already but never for any length of time and always with the family and I want to see it myself. Plus it is the most fantastic city though it has the way of making you feel woefully uncool.

On a more immediate idea I could spend a week in Edinburgh for the film festival if I tried hard enough, got a change of scenery. Especially if my dad wangles whatever it is that he is wangling from his friend, who's involved in the organisation somehow. Sadly, still money involved and I haven't spoken to the girl who lives in our capital for far too long to suggest I crash at hers. And it is in June this year which is creeping up on me. I've got the two essays still to do, one more pointless practical in which I will do nothing you could call 'practical' and one day trip I'm sure I have to do something for.

Ack deadlines. I do so hate them.

Somewhere in between I'll have to get my hair cut before it explodes into some sort of fluffball, hilarious as that would be. But I'm still on holiday, nowhere near on top of things like I intended but I'm feeling relatively cheerful so let's not bother with anything boring.