Scribble pants

This semester I've learned how to make three kinds of Margarita cocktails, do a DIY chemical-carpet clean and figure out that cream cheese tastes incredible on dried figs. All this and still only one essay handed in. I know there are alot of blog posts about procrastination (especially in my own archives) so I'll leave it there. But you know I want to whine about secretly.

On the suspiciously similar re-hashed topic of going to University... I looked down at my notes the other day and realised that they looked almost as juvenile as my year 8 school planner, and that had pictures of Jebediah and Grinspoon stuck all over it.

It was a particularly boring class to be fair, an Art History subject taken by a pompous and well dressed old woman of 50 or so. She loved the sound of her own voice and would prattle on through a two hour tutorial for a duration for at least 128 minutes. If people didn't start walking out the door I fear the class would never have ended.
However her speaking orgy did not extend to when you actually had a real problem, then she'd simply say "I can't help you with that" and fly off on her broom back to her office where she'd listen to her own audio lectures with the blinds down caressing a toad.

Ok so she was fucking dull and irritating, you get the point. I looked at my notes and saw that they were more "vandalism" than "study buddy". I took some photographic proof because lets face it, I'm probably going to lose my notebook before the end of semester.
Sometimes these notes were subject-related but most of the time they were more like, um...raccoon? Sick of it yet? Ok I'll stop now, but now you know what it feels like to have straw instead of a brain. I'm off to see the Wizard! The Wonderful Wizard of Oz!