March was a lot of fun and I’ve been really happy, so I’ve written some things that have been going on for me in the month, like a mini diary:
I managed to get a contract for my flat mate, Martha, to do all my washing up until Easter if I bought her shampoo and conditioner. She said that she hated buying it and that her favourite ones were from the pound store. Martha made the contract and I looked it over, it seemed legit, she is studying law after all. Although, I do feel concerned for the people she’ll be representing in the future as a lawyer, like: “don’t worry guys, I know they murdered your whole family, but free face wipes for everyone!”
Recently I killed a cactus. Not on purpose, but judging from its carcass I can safely assume it died a slow and painful death. I have no idea how long it had been dead by my bed, being all gross and wobbly but from what I understand, it drowned.
My mum got me the cactus for university because she said I was just like it. I did not want this imploding plant to be a metaphor for my personality. That meant I was prickly on the outside but literally dead on the inside and one day I’ll just collapse into a gooey, yellow, frothy mess. I do Classical Studies, this better not be an omen.
I performed in a comedy play where I was a misogynistic man…again. Classic me. There was cross dressing, penis jokes and Trump quotes. It’s was lot of fun rehearsing and I was basically Hamlet.
Victory is mine
Washing in student halls feels like you’re being robbed. Three pounds for 37 minutes and you wonder why students are smelly and gross. But this day was different, it was a magical day. I had saved up a load until I was down to my last pair of clean pants. I shoved all my stuff into the machine and put a sweet shilling of the queen in the slot. I had only heard myths that it had been rigged cheaper ever since it had been fixed, but it was true! A single pound cleaned all my things and I now had two more to waste on something pointless and delicious. It’s the little things in life.
The title about sums it up to be honest. I live in a flat complex on the top floor and I am quite lucky to have a pretty good view. However, a lot of that view is looking into other people’s apartments. The view from my room isn’t very good so sometimes I like a long stare out of the kitchen and let my mind drift away. Recently I have found this harder when all I can see is a middle aged man’s bum crack. I couldn’t believe it at first- do people actually do this? The couple weren’t doing anything, they just casually disrobe and continue with their washing up. What’s the point? Who are these people in the day time when they’re not naked? Do they want people to see them? It is bizarre and quite traumatising when all I wanted was a sausage sandwich and suddenly I lost my appetite.
Me and my fabulous cheer team went to Nationals in March and we absolutely aced it. The majority of the team hadn’t done cheerleading before and we came second in the competition for our level. It took a lot of work, sometimes we had training for 6 hours a week but it was definitely worth it.
You don’t raise me up
The lift to my flat was broken for weeks, they made little attempts to fix it but now have printed more permanent out of order signs. I don’t know if my halls think I’m fat and need the exercise but that’s seven flights of stairs everyday. I’m just going to thank you for toning my legs. On a serious note, unless you put a vending machine half way up, I would like it to be fixed ASAP Bristol.
I’m ready for you April.