Tis Thee Season!

Its the most wonderful time of the year..... Unless your a uni student. Then its the most stressful time of the year.

What have I done in the past two weeks or so? Well I've cried about my trousers being too big on me. Got annoyed about the fact that McDonalds didn't give me my chicken mayo that I ordered and I didn't realise till I got home. Laughed a lot over the possibility of me and Mel living in a van after uni and being the female version of the hairy bikers. Cooked Christmas dinner, read some more books. Wrote and essay and shat myself (not literally) when I was awoken in the middle of the night.


So I actually cooked food that wasn't pasta or rice. That's right I made a Christmas dinner for the flat, except Ellen who was away. Emily is a vegan so I wouldn't know where to start and 43 doesn't leave her room so there was no chance of her coming. So it was just me, Beth, Kylie and Megan (the other Yorkshire lass) from the flat next door but one. I've never been a stressful cook but when you've got everyone in the kitchen, Christmas bangers blaring out also add the fact that one is allergic to wheat and the other is allergic to soya and oranges. It begins to feel a bit like bake off crossed with come dine with me. It got to one point where I began to talk and sound like Clare, I was being a proper mum, you know the one.

The type of mum that says things like:

"Have you dropped that or are you gonna eat it?"

"It's all right I've got it, don't you worry."

"You get what your given."

"I haven't sweated my arse off just for you to leave it."

The few of you who actually know me, will know that I never intentional say things like this, I'm never like that, I'm usually a laid back go with the flow sort of person so. But when your cooking Christmas dinner it changes you. You say and do things you always thought you would never do.


The dinner was beaut though, if I may say so myself. The mash was lump free and just amazing and everything else was equally as good. It was the first time we had a dinner like that in months and you could tell as we all sat and ate in silence wishing it to never end. But just like all good things, it came to an end. Finding a dessert for two people with allergies was the hardest, in the end me and Megan got bloody ice cream, mint ice cream at that and we said that if they didn't like mint they were gonna get it. Thankfully they liked mint. I wouldn't like to of thought what Megan would of done had they not.


Art Essay. What a load of bollocks.


Yes we do essays in art. I know I was surprised too, I thought art wasn't a real subject and we fine artists just spent our days messing about, doing nothing. Well guess what, its a real subject and is a stressful at that, we may not have exams but that doesn't mean we don't work our arses off just to create the image we have in our head.


So the art essay was to be a 4000 words max and about our artist. To include citations and fully illustrated. I don't think I've experienced stress like it. In order for me to explain how I write an artist essay I've put them in stages.


These are the Seven stages of writing an essay:

Stage one: Avoid. Your given the essay but you avoid starting it because you have months till its due, so you do the better things in life which is everything but the essay.

Stage two: Weekend promises. The deadline is approaching and a few people in your class have made a start, you begin to panic, but instead of starting you tell yourself you'll do it on the weekend so you can focus on it better. The weekend comes but you never get round to it because the weekend is the only time in the week for you to relax.

Stage three: Bullshit. Your deadline is a matter of two weeks away so you begin to type, disregarding the research you type any old shit, hoping it makes you sound like you know what the hell your talking about.

Stage four: 24 hr Stress. You stress for 24 hours, only 24 hours where you read, reread and then edit your work, stressing it isn't good enough and begin to wonder if working in a petrol station is as bad as your parents made out.

Stage five: Bollocks to it. You've stressed about it too much and lost the will to carry on with the essay so you send it in, no longer giving a shit if its right or not. You just want the bloody thing out of your face.

Stage six: Freedom. You feel free and relaxed and enjoy watching other people lose there shit over the essay.

Stage seven: Last minute panic. You see how everyone else's essay is at a better quality, but remind yourself that it ok if its shit, your there to learn.


So after experiencing the seven stages of writing an essay, I finally went to bed at midnight on Monday night. I was knackered and needed to sleep. I was out like a light only for my room to start flashing red and the sound of the fire alarm blaring in my room. I was in such a deep sleep I didn't know what day, time or year I was living in. I got out and was about to walk out of the door, only then realising that I needed pants and shoes on. I jumped around my room which looks like a bombsite at the moment. Pulled on my clothes, grabbed my keys and walked out. Kylie was outside, saw my face and she asked, "Come on." I replied, "This can fuck off." It was half one in the morning when I looked at my phone and it was raining. Wonderful. Kylie had to wake 43 and Emily up who probably didn't think the alarm was a real threat. Beth bless her had her rollers in and was having a right dilemma. Being a vintage girl who doesn't leave the house without make up, lets just say she was less than pleased about the fire alarm. One outside I stood with Kylie and Megan and as we turned round we saw 43 talking on the phone. Kylie who shares a wall with 43, said, "For the record she's been on that phone for the past three hours." Kylie looked very annoyed about it but laughed anyway. It turned out that someone in block A thought it would be a good idea to burn some beans on the hob at half one in the morning and wake everybody up. Twat.


Any who, that's all that has happened in the past two weeks. Not much really I guess. Anyway, I'll be going home to Yorkshire on Saturday and I can't wait, I need to sleep in an actual bed and eat food that doesn't consist of pasta and rice.


After all, its just been another week in the life as the Yorkshire Bookworm,

Till next time,

Phoebe x

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