And Sleep will not lie down, but walks

Wild-eyed and cries to Time.

Five days into uni holidays, and I’ve already failed in my decision to sleep during more rational hours. I think this was prompted by my appalling eight hours asleep vs. seventy-six awake that occurred in the middle of Death by Assessments week, and yet Portal 2 has stolen a lot of my nap time regardless; clearly I prefer to have abuse hurled at me by a passive-aggressive robot rather than sleep.

It’s incredibly good to be on break, though. It came at exactly the right time, I think; I was at that tipping point where I felt like my head would explode if I tried to cram in anything else. Assignments, assessments, catching up maths lectures— uh, I mean, going to maths lectures… One would think that living twenty minutes’ walk from uni instead of an hour and a half’s commute would mean I would make it to 8am maths, but I have found that not to be the case. I’m determined to make it to every single one in the next half of the semester, but we’ll see how that goes. I’m skeptical of my own determination. I’m looking forward to that glorious day at the end of semester when ENGG1805 is no more, and I can go back to being as unprofessional in my balsa bridge building as I so desire. Bliss.

Meanwhile I’ll have to tough it out on vanilla malt milkshakes and buckets of chai latte. How unfortunate.

Speaking of unprofessional, today I discovered that Facebook is victim to the Y2K38 bug. Fantastic. How do I know this? I wanted to create an event for the nuclear holocaust as depicted in the Fallout series. Totally reasonable, right? Not if your event occurs in 2077, apparently. Tom, Jack, Josh and I plan to meet up on October 23rd, 2077, sit on the verandah and reminisce about video games from our youth. I will be eighty-four years old! So far my main reason for wishing to live that long is not for enjoying longevity of life, but for the express purpose of making that appointment.

Now that I’ve entertained myself and created a blog, I think I’ll sleep.
Approximately 65 days until Pete comes home.

P.S. “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” — go read it.

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