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Just Breathe

17 November 2007

I am stressed, peeved and hungry. I have 4000 words eating me. I have spent the day researching and i am precisely no nearer to actually being able to write either of these bloody essays. The clothes I’m ironing are coming out of the laundry almost as dirty as they went in, and I’m paying £3 a pop for the privilege! Sabbs heads will be rolling come Monday. I shan’t stand for this. I’ve got a job, whoopety do. Why? God knows, I don’t need it. I think mother is still engineering, from over 100 miles away, amazing how they manage that. I have little enough time to do everything I need and want to do anyway. I’m thinking about how i’m going to jack it in before I even start. GAH. They give me a shirt and it’s POLYCOTTON, who wears a plastic shirt!? Even my £2 primark tee from last week is 100% cotton. So you can’t iron plastic on max, it melts I guess. Turn it down to one blob and it takes half an hour to get rid of all the creases. And I swear they’re not all out. It’s too much effort before I even start getting paid; paid what? I have no idea what rate I’m on, I’m doing 2 shifts a week, that’s more hours than I ever did at Henderson’s. I don’t feel like I can go and say look I want one night, it said two shifts to begin with anyway. I might leave it a week before I do that. Argue I’ve done three this week. I need to write ESSAYS! And I need to get a degree. It might cost me £200 a week to be here, but it’s going to cost a damned sight more than that if I don’t get a first or at the very least a 2:1. Fuck.

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