Hermit

I have picked a rather silly time to begin constructing this blog. So..much..work... not...getting..done... Why do we place ourselves under so much pressure? How do we end up in these dire situations where our eyes become telepathically glued to a computer screen for a good part of the night, striving, struggling, slowly dying in an endeavour to type 1000 words on a highly outdated review of 'Emma' that was written by a man with the name 'Reginald'.
That overwhelming sense of dread that is the undying cause of procrastination. Oh the joys of year 12. Pretending you don't care, pretending you do care, endless cups of black coffee in a cardboard cup and a social life that swings between drunken outbursts and solitary confinement. And this is all for the benefit of our future? That said, I refuse to end this blog with a rhetorical question. So instead I will leave you with the one and only statement that makes any sense to me: Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about. At least Oscar knew his shit.