Wow, look at the time. I feel SO hardcore. I’m trying to keep this blog as impersonal as possible: earlier on I realised I’d given the address out to almost the entire school and deleted a ton of stuff I wrote about my love life, haha. But it’s late, and I’m tired. Don’t ask why I’m up so late: my best friend came round and sat in my driveway from half nine to half eleven. Mental. Also, since I feel stupid posting all my miserable moanings on Twitter, I decided to write a simple sonnet lamenting the fact that BFB hasn’t emailed me in *checks date* four days. Sounds like nothing, but when you’re leaving the country at the end of the month… The poem is 119 lines so far. I feel like one of the Brontes: I just don’t know when to stop moaning. I’ll be comparing myself to a hill next.
The hits on this are brilliant, so good to see that people are ACTUALLY reading this. And yes, people have actually emailed me for the scripts! Good! It shows enthusiasm and commitment = fabulous. #godi’msotired
Tomorrow Charlotte and I are putting posters up. Then walking to Camberley. And on Wednesday Hutch and I are going to the official SSF directors’ workshop. Good news: it’s in London! Bad news: I have to get the train at about half seven in the morning! FML. Also, my room is a tip, it’s almost TWO IN THE MORNING and I am meeting Charlotte at nine. That’s seven hours. Meaning I get like five hours’ sleep!? Oh dear, might be time to change plans. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!?
Christ. Go to bed, woman. Go to bed.