I sit upright in bed and attempt to get up, doing what can only be described as an athletic leap over the clothes spread around my floor, I hear the sarcastic applause from the spectators eyeing through the windows of block D.
A tangy taste of dehydration overcomes me; I take a swig of left over Cherry Sourz, hissing at the harsh aftertaste, a minor improvement, still feeling like a tramp. I stumble around the floor with the air of a lost child, picking up items of clothing one by one like breadcrumbs leading towards the door. Bra, thong, leggings, top, socks, boots, bracelets, handbag; the contents spilling onto the floor as I grasp them in my arms. I sigh, throw everything onto the bed and select a more conservative set of underwear; covering myself with a dressing gown and pulling out my laptop from under the bed. I head to the kitchen with a task in mind.
When you put on a bra to feel more productive you have pretty much hit the moocher standard, and I most certainly mooch. I don’t know if underwear has some sort of magic power to make you feel more studious, but I feel I at least owe it to my flatmates.
So here I am, sat at my kitchen counter because ‘working’ in my room can easily be read as ‘pissing about on the internet’.
That’s the one good thing about my flat’s internet connection, the time out setting acts as the parental figure that I so desperately need: ‘have actually watched an entire series of 30 rock today? Ok time out for you, go do some work you absolute mess’.
There is the option of sitting in bed all day, stretching the cord just far enough so it doesn’t unplug itself and destroy all your precious streaming progress. And eating, of course there will be eating.
If I stay in that hole long enough it starts to smell too much like concentrated ‘Eau de Alura’, and that’s not fun for anyone.
The lack of male attention and affection in my life becomes apparent on days like these, I know I pride myself on being the epitome of the ‘single student’ in this blog but don’t think dear reader that this means that I don’t yearn for a nice body to snuggle up to, to sleep on. I may look for someone to fill that void on hungover afternoons. So I have the option to do someone instead of do nothing all day. And so I have an excuse as to why I haven’t done any of my work.
Just a thought really.