"Not Sure"

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Because I just figured that "Yes, fully" was not necessarily the right box to tick, when asked on the casting form "Would you be willing to appear nude in this film?" I've got to admit I'm really looking forward to sending all my teachers the e-mail 'I'm sorry, but I won't be able to attend classes this Thursday because I will be appearing in Mr. Nice'; they're recreating Oxford here for the next week or so, and there might be more than the usual five people showing up to breakfast on Monday morning because Rhys Ifans is staying in the castle. Sure, I'm an extra, but there's no reason I can't work my way up to Person Eating Crisps, or maybe even Girl 37! Luckily the only two days I have to show up are this Thursday and next Wednesday, so I don't even have to let them know that I'm jetting off to Germany this weekend with the chamber choir. Comparing this week's page of my planner to last week's is like adding turmeric and chilli powder to vanilla ice cream; I never would have thought of such an odd combination of events, but it promises to be memorably delicious. Perhaps it's just a cosmic incentive for surviving my English oral, which takes place in an hour...and yes of course I'm writing my travel blog right now because if I look over my meticulous scene-by-scene synopsis of Othello one more time I may be tempted to smother myself with a pillow. As Othello does, to Desdemona, in Act 5 Scene Two. Definitely Scene Two. Which was written in 1605. I just can't stand memorising this stuff because, frankly, "Did you know that Desdemona gets smothered on line 180, but in fact takes two entire pages to die?" is not the greatest conversation starter. Luckily some aspects of dry academia do translate into real life, such as the Solipsism Diet, inspired by my Theory of Knowledge essay and by the fact that they were out of ham and cheese omelettes at lunch today. It occurred to me, after reading over my ToK corrections, that if I was a solipsist I could, in fact, tell myself that my vile sweet and sour quorn with canned pineapple on a bed of rice was an omelette, and that my mealy bruised apple was in fact apple crumble with warm custard. Plain Ryvita crackers shall henceforth be known as caramel cheesecake, and Lydia's double-layer box of Thornton's Classic Chocolate Collection will be mucus. Then I can arrive to my Tuesday morning 8 am Spanish code five minutes before class ends, claiming that time is an illusion, or more accurately that el tiempo es una ilusion. Which makes me wonder: do I have enough time to create a purple sparkly bruise on my forehead with eyeshadow and arrive at the English Lecture Theatre of Doom at 4:15, claiming with a confused and pain-stricken face to have tripped on the stairs and suddenly lost all my memory of the English language, and would this be the most believable excuse for cancelling an English oral? Yes, fully.

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