Except with maybe more twitches because coffee.
…attempt to learn Afrikaans.
It is probably the hardest thing you will ever learn to do, especially if (like me) you’re a white Canadian chick with limited accent capability. It’s harder than learning Farsi. It’s harder than Punjabi. It’s harder than Hindi. (Don’t assume I have proficiency in any of those languages — I can speak two words of both the latter languages and about forty-six words in Farsi.)
But besides that, it sure is fun (read: frustrating as all get-out but at least you can pretend you’re Yo-Landi Vi$$er and feel mildly better about yourself while having increasing respect and awe for Die Antwoord) to make all those rolled [r]‘s and glottal fricatives. Also the alphabet looks deceivingly similar to English, except it’s COMPLETELY MIXED UP which means you don’t know how to pronounce anything until you’ve heard it spoken by a legit Afrikaans-speaker.
Which I aim to be one day.
If I can ever remember that “V” is pronounced as “F”. Until then, geniet jao dag
Yesterday was my day to do homework.
Guess what I did.
Go on, guess.
No, it was not drinking (that was Thursday night (with friends) and Friday night (with Mom)).
No, it was not studying.
No, it was not homework.
I excavated myself a living space out of the knee-deep crap that has been accumulating for the past few weeks on my floor and other various flat surfaces. Applause, applause.
I then had band practice at my house, which I also cleaned like a mad-woman fifteen minutes before people arrived.
I was grumpy the whole day.
Generally speaking, when I get grumpy, I tend to avoid everything that makes sense and drown myself with pizza and doughnuts until I fall into a less-than-content grease coma while watching my favourite cheer-me-up movie, In Her Shoes.
What do you like to do when wading through student lyfe gets you down?
AND BECAUSE OF THAT SHE IS AWESOME (among a virtual ball pool of reasons). Read this. Enjoy this. Write this in the back page of your Bible/Qur’an/Torah/spellbook/grandmother’s recipe book because you will never have another excuse to hate Valentines Day again. Plus, her post more persuasive than my half-sober V-day post. Love all ’round, pandas.
(It is Two Whole Days after Valentines Day. I feel no twinges of shame. There’s still time to buy discount lindor truffles.)
That’s what she said.
This week, I mean. IT’S STILL ONLY TUESDAY
WHEN WILL IT BE FRIDAY EVENING
I don’t even have a bad week ahead of me, relatively. I only have one more assignment due (on Thursday), and I’m pretty sure I have a quiz tomorrow morning. But other than that? Work. Work on Thursday and Friday. Friday…even typing Friday makes me perk up and then slump back into my sleep-deprived coma-like apathy. Reading break seems like a mirage on a distant horizon.
I will bake so many things on reading break. I might read a little too, seeing as I have a bunch of midterms directly afterwards. Always a good thing to be prepared for those. Might do a little bit of sewing too, and reorganizing ye olde bedroom. Maybe paint a little. Learn a song on guitar (wish me luck, this is a larger obstacle than I make it out to be).
DOES THAT NOT SOUND LIKE A MIRAGE?
Hold tight, all you uni students. The break is near. As soon as Friday evening rears its glorious, Netflix-laden head.
That should probably read Pants&Mondays vs. Me.
Monday is such a universally frowned-upon day that I feel I should cut it a little slack, you know? Send some love its way. But then I think, if it weren’t for Monday, I wouldn’t have to wear pants.
And that’s a big deal. Especially since I wore pants yesterday. And after everything that happened this weekend, it would be tres fantastique if I could have just one more day to roll around the house pantsless. Sweatpants are okay, ’cause I don’t really consider them real-world clothes. But real live jeans/cords/dress pants? WHY
I think it’s just the awful duo of Mondays and Pants that heralds the return of responsibilities, early mornings, class, notes, and deadlines that just provokes a serious dislike for the start of the new week. Beginnings are supposed to be happy, but somehow I just can’t bring myself to usher in the week-before-reading-break week with a whole lotta panache.
But hey. That’s Mondays for ya.