It's Amy's Party! Like...right now.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'what is kate doing cramped up in her little study while the moths outside flitter and flutter and flirt. Why, that kate is the life and soul of the party! It's not Jesus that's Lord of the Dance, it's Kate!'
*snort* Or not. No, i trust you will be able to understand without my saying why exactly i dressed up in the "Time Travel" theme (hippy- long socks and white ribbon round the head. The effort i put into some things, you know, it's phenomenal) and yet i won't bare my face to the 18 year olds outside.
The evening flows out a flurry of sounds; the screech of some poor soul who's mother was probably a banshee; the deep guffaw of a guy who's been hit on the head one too many times...
Nah, i'm just exaggerating. They sound like they're having fun, and i'm so happy for amy for that. I hope she'll have a blast tonight. Her big 18th. blimey.
Well, i'll be sure to update you in the event that
a) someone gets rip roaring drunk and mistakes the little elm for a hot latino girl
b) 108 people gatecrash and we get to go on Channel 9's 60 minutes to complain about the plague of teenage hooligans
c) we find suspicious white powder on the bathroom sink tomorrow morning

Two hours later...

No, nothings happened. I'm just lonely. It's strange...i only get lonely when other people are around. I feel so full of curiousity at the moment. The atmosphere is tingling. I wish i could just look on at the whole scene, and yet no one would be able to see me. Use my invisibility cloak. Maybe that sounds a little creepy...but still, i find humans the most fascinating creatures to observe...their methods of travel and intraspecific communication...their intriguing courtship practices...haha.
I feel a little guilty though; the neighbours must be shaking their fists at us through their stained glass windows. The musics pumping so loud, i can feel it reverberating through my chair. Gosh, Kate! Quite worrying about your neighbourhood reputation. Why should it matter? You never even communicated once with your old neighbours! Hell, i reckon you're going to get a pretty good reputation as a stoic unsociable all by your lonesome. So. Let them eat cake.

I'm all dried up for talk. *heaves a sigh* Guess it's back to crosswords.
What a sad, sad person i am.

I just had the biggest scare. Slumping in the doorway after my biology exam, i picked up the cat food to give Tiggs and Jazzi their munch'ems. Except...
"Mum. Where's Tiggs."
Normally he's scampering about and mewling piteously come four o'clock. It was quarter past. Jazzi twined herself around my legs. But no Tiggs. Mum had to dash off to pick up dad from an appointment. While she was gone, i wandered round the house calling out. After about 4 minutes, i gave myself up to despair, and graphic images of a patch of white and orange fur on the side of the road wouldn't stop creeping into my head. With the whole house move i thought he'd ambled off in search of familiar surroundings. It seemed even more unfair because the same thing had happened only a week ago; Missy had escaped during the night; luckily we found her. As i do in almost all dire situations, i - heathen that i am - made a grovelling supplication to 'God'. You know; bargaining with him; 'hey man, you let me find my tiggs, you may have got yourself another partial follower.' Although, of course, my entreaty was perhaps less light-hearted than the above sentence. I stumbled around tearily searching high and low for that dastardly feline. When the parents returned some 15 minutes later, they joined my search, although, unlike me, did not dissolve. Blimey, i am so damn weak. I think that's my fatal flaw, well, one of them anyway. I give in too easily. Cause after about 10 minutes of futile searching, we were out in the shed, and dad said
"i hear him". So did i. Oh blessed meowl!
Eventually we found him. He had been locked in the garage, and he was sitting on the spare tire under my dad's company car. My tiggs!

Well. Now i know cats can be more stressful than exams. I think there's a moral in that.

explosives in

You know, i was just thinking *the crowd gasps*
Isn't it [to discover the adjective, see cryptic below] how us young'ns aren't permitted to EVER use colloquials in our writing? Don't get me wrong; i am not advocating essays along the lines of 'Gatsby is a cool dude'. But if the odd informal is interspersed amongst grandiloquence, it kind of brings the whole piece of writing down to earth. It's like the writer is saying, yes, i can communicate in a complex style, but i don't want to sound too stuffy or up myself, so here's an axiom for you. My hypothesis:
By inserting the odd informal phrase or word to a formal essay gives the piece variety, interest and makes it highly accessible to the reader.

Cryptic for the adjective above....

Sounds like an explosive in a type of frog is monstrous.
OR
The yeti is detestable.
[look to the end of post for answer]

dum dee dum
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ANWER: abominable.
(an explosive: a bomb; in a type of frog: a BULL frog)
(also, the abominable snowman= yeti)

The Scientist operates on Harry Potter and a Bacteria's Flagella

Three down! Four to go!
egh.
Oh how coincidental! Coldplay's The Scientist is playing right now...

Nobody said it was easy [well...i guess they kind of did]
No one ever said it would be this hard...[i like the shift from 'nobody' to 'no one'. Adds interest]
oh take me back to the start...[of the year]

One can pretty much align themselves with any trace of melancholy during such times. But i shall not dwell in this grey little closet...(the closet is metaphorical by the way. I'm not actually shut in a closet right now. That would be weird, and i dissuade such a practice to all those chronic closet-dwellers out there)

Instead, i shall revel in the fruits of my glory! No, i'm not talking about exams (a shudder runs through her). No indeed. Instead, i wish to bring to your attention a certain achievement of mine; something i have been struggling with for nigh on 8 years.
I have finally persuaded my father to read Harry Potter.
*does a jig* :) :)
Enter the portal to yesterday.....*time warp*
Kate: "So. What have you done today dad?"
Dad (grimaces, with his fractured ankle resting on a pillow): nothing.
Kate: well. It just so happens i have a job for you. I believe it shall achieve mutual satisfaction.
She stalks off with a very smug expression on her face.
Dad (nervously): oh yes? (waits) what's that behind your back?
Kate brings The Philosopher's Stone forward with a flourish.
Kate: You have no excuse now!
Dad limps away hurriedly,
Kate: You can run but you can't hide!!! You have to!!!

Hah! He's HALFWAY THROUGH already.

I know, i know. String me up on a cross and burn me/whip me with a giant bacteria's flagella/bonk me on the head repeatedly with a crusty sponge. (i'd prefer the sponge. just so's you know).
I should be studying right now. Not even halfway through. But this wave of apathy has percolated my very being...the pen weighs heavily in my hand...

Breathe. Just breathe. In out. It ain't that hard. You are a functioning organism; every creature under the sun can respirate. Even plants, although they do it through tiny pores on the underside of their leaves called stomata, and oxygen also enters through loosely packed cells in their stems, called lenticels. Hey hey!

pah. "oh that this too too sullied flesh would melt, thaw and resolve itself in a dew." "It cannot be that i am pigeon-livered and lack gall to make [this lit study go away] or ere this i should ha [dunnit.]" I am sitting in teh library right now and 'how all occasions to inform against me', as i see me fellow tortured year 11's revising studiously. "who breaks my pate across, pluck my beard [hmm...] and blows it in my face, tweaks me by the nose?...Sounds i should take it!'

Ah yes. I share the melancholic spirit of Hamlet, for my will and motivation has died, and it's faithful partner, sense, has entered a foul relationship with a 'bloody bawdy villian. Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! (otherwise known as lethargy, in my case)
And yes! I share his vice! Procrastination! Although, where he is overly scrupulous, paralysed in between two morally dubious paths, i am merely lazy.
hum. That indeed takes the heart out of the theory that i, like him, am a tragic hero; a soul unfit to bear the burden thrust upon it.

Oh! I love Horatio!
"I am more an antique roman than dane
Here's yet some liquor left"

Yet, despite my partiality, he doesn't really do much does he? His role begins when the play ends. Although, i hurriedly add, i certainly wouldn't write him out of the script. He is the essential couterbalance to the brooding and sordid atmosphere which soaks the play; he is the only one who resists corruption, the sole survivor at the end after Denmark has been 'purged' from its disease. And Hamlet finds a true and noble friend and listener in him. You know, someone to talk to. He can't talk to himself all the time. Horatio helpfully fills in the gaps with 'even so my Lord' and 'yes my lord'. While it IS true that his good chum informed him in the very first act of the apparition of the ghost his father, i'm sure one of the guards could have done so, perhaps Bernardo, just the same.

hum.
no, literally, hum. The world is too silent.

Sitting in this new study is rather pleasant. It looks out into the garden; well, actually my view is dominated by two rather Braquian looking sheds, but there are a few trees here and there to make this vista more organic. So i'm happy. Oh! and two little birds just swooped by. One lands on a overhanging branch, and cocks its head this way and that. How picturesque.

While at this moment, my writing would belie an innate contentedness, content, by dear bloggie is pretty much the last emotion i'm experiencing. The relief of completing yesterdays exam has long worn away, and is replaced by the weighty realisation that it sure ain't over yet. This course has more hurdles, this path has more annoying little brambles that we are forced to step on; we have yet more circles of hell to pass through before we can reach the heaven of holidays. No! Must refrain from fantasizing!

So. Lit study. I had better get to it i spose. *quotes from multiple movies pop into her head all at once*

Lord of the Rings (frodo): I can't do this Sam!
Holes: if only, if only the woodpecker sighs
Ice Age: (scrat) just a long, drawn out wail

And so she realises, only too late that her bloggie was faithful to her after all.

You see, i have reasoned with myself that perhaps my current literary paralysis has stemmed from the evaporation of my personal voice. When i don't write here, i won't write anywhere. So, through what i think is pretty cogent reasoning, i have convinced myself that, as long as i keep this blog running along rational lines for the time being, it will enhance my performance in exams.



Yup, that's all it really comes down to. Kate's getting paranoid again, 'thinking too precisely on it'..."and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought".

Success! i have completed my lit study for the day through remmebering that one quote!

ha.
*heaves a sigh and then returns to the plodding path of study*

They're coming. And like a beast on four, i cower before my doom. Misgivings and doubts attack me from all sides, so that as I, with all the strength of spirit i can muster, battle one on the right another chews at my self-confidence on the left.

Ah, i love being dramatic. Never fear, i'm not serious. I just enjoy writing like this; stimulating energetic conceits excites me.

ooh! Margaret and David are on!

Study. Tv. Study?

Tv wins.

by the way, i'm moving in two days. Scary man. boxes everywhere. can't concentrate.
Dad was in a kite-surfing accident. He had to go to the emergency ward in hospital. :( :(