Gotta keep moving on.

Getting back into the swing of school life was easier then I thought it'd be.

My list-of-three before leaving the house went well enough.

1. Get up and stay up - Check aaaand check.

2. Try to look a little less like a corpse - Not exactly, I stormed into the bathroom shouting 'why when I have to go to school do I look like I've drowned in a river and am still walking around?!' ...Grr.

3. Go to school looking like a tramp in uniform - MY FAVOURITE GAME.

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Always, without fail, there is a lesson that defines how great or crappy my day is going to be. My money was on French being the class that delivered the verdict, and it was - in a way. I was innocently avoiding my teacher at all costs and suddenly I heard my name being called. She asked me the most basic question and I gave a totally legit answer ('I was asleep') and she said that was wrong. Oh really? Funny that she should ask what I did last night, which, strangely enough, was to sleep, and then I tell her so, and apparently NO! I did NOT sleep. Bad Nicole, who has now been humiliated in front of the whole class by failing to answer a year seven-grade question.

After French the hard part of my day was pretty much over. English was a breeze, drama was a doddle. Lunch was just plain amusing, with me having a bitching session with P. Daddy about his fellow teachers, and then relaxing in our new form room (technically it's fake-form to the power of five, but who has that kind of time in the world?) with the Urban Family and various other animals (sorry guys, I've always wanted to say that). Scary, horrible college-level maths was alright too, which was... well, pleasant.

Woop!

French aside, it was an ideal school day.

31 more of those to go (I did more number-crunching last night, I'm missing days for extra school stuffs all over the fugging shop).