It’s time for Friday’s summary of the week. Hosted by This Ain’t The Lyceum.
Exams: five down, zero to go.
Obligatory robot party gif.
“So, now you don’t have any exams, you have lots of free time, right?”
‘Nother misconception about students is that when we’re done with assignments and exams, we have nothing more to do. Not true. Currently, Alex is a busy bee, run off her feet, with so much yet to do with herself.
And, apparently, that makes her use third person…
The Itchy Feet event I’m helping to organise was on this coming Wednesday, so my free time was devoted to promoting that. Which is, frankly, scary, as it involves leaving the house and handing out flyers to strangers. Oh well. I need to up my performance confidence. I should make it a goal to stop flailing as I do things I actually love. Starting with cooking.
I had three meetings today, of varying lengths and involvements, but all is adding up as work. My Psychology project for third year is beginning to be planned, but we’ve been unable to get hold of our supervisor, so it’s feeling like we’re in the middle of a lake without oars.
Did I mention that there was a Steampunk event last weekend? It wasn’t a big one, and revision meant I limited myself to one outing, but a Steampunk event is a Steampunk event nevertheless. The Sergeant and I travelled over to Frome in Somerset for a few hours of looking around the Steampunk market there and then around the small town. I may have popped into some charity shops for quick-spend clothes… No photos from me, sadly – as seems to be the unfortunate trend; and I’d love to vlog or video more steampunk outings – but my gentleman and I did snap a couple of selfies.
I’ve started editing again – didn’t much ease myself in, though, as I threw myself into Aidelle’s penultimate chapter whilst the Philosophy Society were busy with quiz and karaoke last night. The music in pubs these days is far too loud…
I’ve also been trying to enhance my imagery to make it more…unique to the novel.
Aidelle didn’t remember writing them, but her hand had decorated the page whilst Zara had been describing her life. It was as twisted as they were; more twisted than the pipes of a combustion engine.