2am and she calls me 'cause I'm still awake.

I get really productive about three hours past my bedtime. Tonight, or this morning, I discovered just how much one can get done when drowsiness doesn't kick in when it should. I always get good at things right about the time I should be focussing on something else. For instance, I am blogging a lot currently because a) there is nothing left to tidy in my bedroom and b) I am supposed to be studying for exams. I never thought I'd be writing much in this blog because, seriously, 'sif my life is interesting. I resolved to be committed anyway, in spite of my lack of inspiration and poor history with follow-through, and here we are. I've written so much here this week I think my journal is going to get suspicious and hire a Private Investigator to tail me.

I have everything organised for tomorrow and, at this rate, I'm going to be awake to greet it. I hope my passport arrives. I hope Julia isn't disgusted by my home and hostessing skillz, respectively. I hope I get a lot of study done and have some fun in the process (HA!). And I hope I can get some work options lined up.

I am so sleepy right now, finally, and am watching Gabrielle and some adorable little punk girl get cornered by a gang of greedy men (is there any other kind? Don't answer that with a "hey!" or I might have to apologise for my lazy and unfunny generalisation). If this beautiful drooping of my eyelids gets any more intense, I might be forced to retire to the Land of Nod and give up on completing minor projects tonight. Oh, what we do for sleep.

And you're not invited.

So I'm trying to study for Democracy exam (entails 3 essays over 2 hours and counts for 50% of my grade. Are you as flustered by all those numbers as I am? Good.) and I'm sort of thrown by the sudden disappearance of the wankerous vocabulary I've come to rely on. Exhibit A: a sample from the essay I wrote earlier in the semester; "The Charter's internal sexism and external reliance on representation could not negate its significance as a document capable of revealing democracy's susceptibility, as a concept and a reality, to evolution." Exhibit B: someone's annotation on my Creative Writing draft after workshopping "...I know you like using big words but would [insert character's name]?" So where the hell are my freakin' big words, I ask you?! I hope I come up with something better tomorrow.

I've been living off the baked goods I made for the party on Saturday so at the moment I'm on my third cookie of the day. Don't even get started on cake, birthday or cup. It's a sickness, really. But I'll be baking some more next Saturday on account of the "family" Birthday gathering my mother wants to have which, I must admit, I am rather tickled by for a number of reasons:

1)I've always been a bit unimpressed by the concept of cousins. You know, people talking about/hanging with/abiding their cousins. It all just seemed odd to me because my father's side of the family kind of didn't exist to me for most of my life and my mother's family, while nice, are very different to us strange, complex, liberal city slickers. But, of late, we've been doing the whole solving-issues-with-estranged-relatives thing and one of the casualties of this process have been my cousin Bernie and his family. He has a semi-vego wife who is nice about my cooking, a nine year old daughter who likes to talk to me about school and a four(ish) year old daughter who draws me pictures. Oh, and Bernie himself is uber nice and charming. What's not to love? So yeah, I find myself enthusiastically uttering phrases that used to make my skin crawl like "My cousins are coming over!", "My cousins called to wish me a Happy Birthday!" etc. Needless to say, the new favourite relatives are coming over next Sunday to celebrate my newfound old age.

2) I'm getting my wisdom teeth out the next day. So the little shindig doubles as an "in-case-you-don't-wake-up-from-the-general-anaesthetic"/"good-luck-with-the-whole-eating-old-people-food-for-a-week" party.

3) I am actually really sick of baking right now. It was sort of a marathon measure-whisk-pour-cook fest last week. But nobody in my house can really cook like I can (I know, don't you love the exaggerated sense of self importance?) and I abhor most things store-bought. So I'ma bake some cupcakes for the littleys and scones for ... everyone else.

I better go actually study. Oh, I guess I ought to add this next thing as a new section of le blog.




Heard

"My mother has a problem with my Monday night drinking." - Marlowe.

"It makes me sad when they sweep up the leaves."- Ash.

"Your Dad's really funny."- every young woman I work with *sigh*



'til next time, children.