Well, doing my laundry wasn't as bad as I surmised it would be. It was fucking worse. First of all, by the time you get all your clothes in machines that actually work, you've spent about fifteen quid on laundry tokens. Then your clothes only dry half-way, assuming that, unlike me, your dryer actually keeps working for the whole cycle, and then, unlike me again, you aren't left with a heap of wet clothes in the middle of your floor because you ran out of fucking tokens and the building in which the Righteous Token Machine has been locked for the night, gone to bed gingerly so that tomorrow it can, once again, only spit out half the amount of tokens that you've paid for. Do I sound bitter? Are you picking up the "half" motif here? Saying I am about "half" satisfied with the quality of the laundry system here would be a flattering, completely sarcastic overstatement. I miss my cleaning lady.
So I had a long day. Classes from 10 am to 6 pm, interspersed with about three double espressos and one seriously strange excuse for a pastrami sandwich. How come it's never sunny on the days when I actually leave my room? Wind and drizzle, all the time, never real rain; it rains half-way, and it's gray, and pretty soon it's going to start getting dark at like, noon just like EVERYONE AND THEIR MOTHER has warned me about, and that's gonna be a real blast. "Oh, Scotland. You know, it gets very dark there in the winter. Yes, the days, they are very short. Oh, that's going to be depressing."
The only solution to a day like this? Sidecars at the pub down the block; I'm allowed to throw tantrums if I'm drinking sidecars. Hey, it worked for Zelda Fitzgerald.
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