Why can I never look at anything on the internet without being bombarded with stories of weightloss? I've just spent at least 5 minutes trying to navigate myself away from a page dedicated to 'Julie's Story -"How I lost 5 stone in 4 weeks - and how you could too!" ' - Thanks Julie, but somehow I can't imagine my body being able to handle losing over a stone a week, despite how much it may need to. I'm also curious as to whether a fake tan comes with the weightloss programme due to the subjects in all the "after" pictures looking like they've just come back from a clearly not-inclusive holiday in Hawaii, as opposed to the pale (and for some reason really spotty) looks they were sporting in the "before" photos. Hopefully I will never sink low enough to find out.
This week has been relatively productive, if you include sitting in my bedroom drawing Juno cartoons productive...
My presentation last Tuesday went pretty well; we both wore appropriate footwear and my tutor even went as far to say it was 'exciting' (which, to be honest, I think is a bit too far, but I won't complain.) We had to fill out review sheets for everyone at the end so I went ahead and took the time to fill out one for myself, describing my presentation and overall contribution to the module as 'exemplary'. I hope my tutor reads it and reconsiders me as a worthy member of the seminar group. I attended the student representatives meeting today as well, which should give me a few brownie points, especially taking into consideration that I wasn't late and had even gone to the effort to bring my notepad, clearly showing my commitment to the role as set rep. I wish I could say the same for my ScienceFiction tutor who was sat next to me - he spent the majority of the meeting doodling in his diary and when I looked over at the end I was met with a cigarette smoking alien wearing a giant hat and walking down a road with a sign saying 'To Chester!'... I didn't ask.
Speaking of the devil, or rather, aliens, me and Jayne had quite an eerie xperience involving some kind of extra terrestrials the other night. We were sat on my bed Facebook stalking, a common activity, when a green laser from outside started flickering into my room. We looked out of the window and saw it was coming from one of the gardens down the alleyway, but there was no sign of anyone there leading us to the only possible conclusion - aliens. We spent the rest of the night watching clips of some CBBC show about aliens and the pilot of Are You Afraid of the Dark? I don't know if I was more scared or excited for something to actually be happening in my recently uneventful life. I'll go for exciting.
The conference last week got continually more boring after the first day and a half and I was on the verge of wondering why I was going when it was announced there would be a free buffet. Now, I know for some people excitement comes in the form of bungee jumping in Australia or white water rafting down the Colorado River, and don't get me wrong, those things are very exciting - but a free buffet? That's surely got to be up there! It definitely brightened up my Wednesday.
I worked out earlier that it is now 6 and a half weeks until my twentieth birthday - a little too soon for my liking. Jayne pointed out today that after her birthday (which is in a week and a half), if she happened to die it wouldn't be as upsetting to read in the paper as it would be if she was to die now. The headline 'Young Woman in Early Twenties Dies' would probably have less effect than '19-Year-Old Girl Dies in Prime of Life'. Quite upsetting really. Becoming twenty takes away so many opportunities; for example, I can now never be a teenage mother. Having a baby would now just be a major inconvenience - I would never be able to bring my child up to be amazing and then tell my moving tale of how I was a struggling teenage mother who managed to rise from the ashes. Unless, of course, I unexpectedly pop one out in the next six weeks, which isn't likely (unless the weight I've put on recently is actually a small child growing in my womb). Knowing my luck though, even if I was pregnant I would give birth the day after my twentieth birthday and have my Hollywood story ripped away from me. Oh well, maybe life has something else up it's sleeve which, hopefully, does not involve a child coming out of my body, which, to be honest, sounds to me like a bit too much effort.