But who bought the basil plant?

I’ve been watering a little basil plant which has been sitting in our kitchen window. I thought it was strange Marina bought it, because who eats THAT much basil (at least in our house)? Every time it started to get sad and droopy looking I thought, “poor thing, why isn’t Marina taking care of it?” So I’ve been talking to it and watering it, and it’s flourished quite nicely so far (thanks to my tender, loving care, obviously).
I mentioned the plant to Marina and she said something along the lines of, “when you bought it…” which made me pause. When I bought it? Me? I didn’t buy this plant. She was positive, she had a memory of me coming in the flat with it. Which made me start questioning myself – did I buy this plant and don’t remember? I swear I remembered her bringing it in… what if I’m losing my memory that badly?! We both had a mini freak out where we couldn’t figure out where the hell the plant came from. All I could think is, “did someone break into our flat and leave a plant? Who does that?”
Finally, I thought to ask Marina’s beau. Thank goodness, he had bought it. I guess he likes basil that much. So we figured out that mystery. If this was a Sherlock case it would have been incredibly uneventful.

I received my grade back from my final essay for my Classical Art of the Body course. I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had really thought this essay was going to knock it out of the park. I knew I had taken some risks with my language, I was excessively colloquial at times. But I thought it all fit fairly well. I actually got a point lower than my last one – which I was convinced I failed. This one actually met the word count AND I felt had better arguments and flow. I was baffled. I am glad, I still got a merit grade (whatever that means). I just had really hoped to get higher. I had been proud of something I made for once. C’est la vie. That’s the way the cookie crumbles and all that.

I had my final Greek exam last week. I am 95% sure I failed. This isn’t like my last in class test where I was like “OMG I FAAAAILLED” and I miraculously passed. I did the math, there’s no way I got above a 38, and I needed to get at least a 46. I had really thought I’d be able to do that, too. What makes me mad is that I could have. I knew enough that I really could have done more. But I didn’t go at the exam in a smart way. I didn’t read to see how much each part of the test was worth. So instead of starting with the two hardest parts (each worth 25 and 30 points alone), I started with the parts I knew better, only worth 45. I missed parts on the portions I knew, too. Not leaving blanks, but knowing that my answers weren’t correct. So, I know I didn’t manage full marks on it. It makes me a bit sick. I keep trying to not think on it, but I’m so frustrated with myself. The hardest parts I didn’t even finish 1/3 of the way, it’ll be a miracle if I got even 3 marks on those sections. I had saved them until too late, not watching the clock like I should have.

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About Lost in London

I often have no clue what I am doing. I get lost, A LOT. I have a terrible sweet tooth which I say I am fighting, but I usually follow that claim up with inhaling a cupcake. Currently I am attempting to live in London and get my Masters. Come and watch me blunder!
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