fellow natives from aotearoa

children, this is why we are proud to be pacific islanders.



go all blacks.

an hour to the finish line

There was a mighty 4 hour battle fought today: Section 2 v. C-T. And in my case, the opposition dominated.

Call it a cop-out. Call it a slow, agonizing death. Call it whatever you want, but until you suffer through a double dose of Property, you have no idea. I left an hour early.

There I am, plunking along through hour 3, dealing with one of those sit-down-and-shut-up headaches, beyond even trying to concentrate on C-T because if I take my mind off of the incessant throbbing behind my eyelids for more than 1 second I could just about guarantee that the Mr. Good Bar I made the mistake of eating would come launching up and land it's gross self all over M.'s pretty computer.

So I came home. And now my only consolation, one I'm sure I'll keep happening upon throughout my impending career, is that if the situation becomes any more dire, I've got a nice glass of water (choose your poison) and a friendly dose of Vicodin calling my name.

And a great boyfriend.

This is for you, L. It's finally a real blog.

it's the quiet ones that worry me.