It’s fall, y’all

Or as the Brits say, “autumn.” Whatever, tomato tomahto. One helps you remember how daylight savings works. The other… doesn’t.

So. It has been awhile. There have been changes. Lots of changes. I’m now model thin, eat well, spend money wisely, make good life choices, have a goal and path in life, and a steady beau.


Yea, no. But, school has officially ended. Done-so. No more. Nada. Year is up. Pretty bittersweet and now I’m back to that “well crap, now what?” place in my life. Career and job searching? Yippee skippy!

I’ve got book fees piling up because I need to take all the library books I borrowed back to their respective places. Which is a lot. The automated emails from the libraries have gotten progressively more passive aggressive, which actually sort of impresses me. Who makes automated emails passive aggressive? London libraries, that’s who.

I had another giant spider attack in my room. Honestly two in a row has sufficiently freaked me out. This one I didn’t kill while it was crawling on me. Oh no, this one was on my floor and ran at me. Or, at least, towards the bed. Which I was sitting on. I jumped up to grab a shoe to smash it, but of course I didn’t grab a useful, easy to swing shoe. So I ended up missing it. And OF COURSE I had all my books piled on my floor, so it had a lot of places to hide from me. My second plan of action was to spray it with something to kill it. Naturally, I don’t have bug spray. So instead I relied on…Shout. That’s right, I sprayed shout all over my room. And, consequently, all over my books. Guess how much it affected the spider? Not. at. all. Therefore, I watched in horror as the spider disappeared under my bed. I saw it crawl onto my suitcase which I store under there, and not come back out. I slept downstairs for the next three days. I never found the spider. I fear it is biding its time to attack again.

Fall is officially here. I’m super stoked for that. Fave season. I’m celebrating by catching some kind of funky cold. Or perhaps that’s from staying up like 36 hours to turn in my dissertation. *casually slips in* Oh, yes, have I mentioned that yet? Hah, how silly of me for it to have slipped my mind. Obviously it was not a big deal or anything.


Needless to say, I finished. Y’all, it’s done and I am not proud of the work I turned in, or even sure of it, but it’s over with and that’s all that really matters. It won’t be getting published anytime soon. But it’s at least over and done with. My family were big troopers and stayed up late reading through it repeatedly as I rushed to finish it the week it was due (yea, I suck. Learned a lot about procrastination and how it has never benefitted me this year…and totally followed through with those lessons). My poor mother was up until like 4 am her time, waiting to read my conclusion because I was going mental over it and begging her for help. My dad and sister read my trillions of drafts week of as I tried to put it all together. I didn’t really do what my professor asked of me… and I feel bad, but I wasn’t sure what to do for the most part. Half of what he talked about went over my head. But you know what? WHO CARES?! IT IS OVER! Woooohoooo!

And to turn it in, all I had to do was run through a rally of animal rights activists, protesting London Fashion Week. No…big…deal. Totally not strange or disturbing to run through a crowd of people dressed in various bloody animal costumes, holding signs with dead animals, or playing recordings of animals in pain. Not disturbing at all. Or ominous. Definitely not ominous as a path to my major grading moment of my MA life. And when I say I ran through, I mean it. I was hustling to get those hard copies turned in. Barrelling through the crowd with elbows flying, knocking into anyone trying to block me with a megaphone or by handing me a flyer. No sir! When I ran into the school entrance, the guy didn’t even make me stop to get out my ID. He saw me start to slow and search for it, but I think he also saw my panic cause he waved me on frantically.

Afterward, my course mates convinced me to go out for a drink with them. I had had one black coffee, no water, and a bite of a cookie since 7am that morning… and hadn’t slept from the night before. I was borderline delusional, unshowered, and wearing the same clothes from the previous day. In other words, I was sex incarnate. I went, Sarah bought my drinks and a thing of cheese fries as thanks for paying for her dissertation binding (we had to have two printed, bound copies for turn in). I tried to really stay in the moment, and I enjoyed myself. But I also stunk and had no idea what was going on half the time. I was sleep deprived, undernourished, and intoxicated. I managed to get home by 11:30, where Melanie and Will had been waiting for me with champagne to celebrate. I had another glass, even more out of it, and then finally slunk off to crash. I woke up at like… I don’t know, 4:00 the next day and walked outside of my room confused and dazed. Melanie came out and saw me, asked how I was, and all I could do was slide down the wall and sit. I felt like crap and I was so out of it I didn’t even know had happened. I later calculated how long I had been awake, and it ended up being roughly 36 hours.

I ended up sick as a dog for the next week. I had lost my voice, was running a fever, and was overall just in junk-body mode. My friend, Claire, came back in from America and I had to miss out on our lunch date because I was still under the weather. It took me a further week to fully recover.

Obviously I do not have the make for being a special ops agent. I can barely last past a day and a half unfed and unrested.


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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