Teenage lobotomy

The fantastic thing about having a strange interest in all things lingual (words make me happy) is that I can frequently go about my business and drop bombs in all different languages, and by the time someone figures out which language Nicole's inner Prince Of Darkness is hiding behind this time, I've already slipped off the radar again. It's infallible.

Knowing things is cool, kids.

Recently I've been trotting all over Europe this way, from the dizzying heights of Finnish to the soaring other heights of Dutch, it's all been said and done. Lately I've been bricking it over various things, and goodness, badness and in between-ness knows that I've tried to alert the great gig in the sky to this. I've written numerous strong-worded letters, I've practically become the patron saint of Britain by complaining to kingdom come and back and I've taken a dive with most of my work just to make up for lost time and it's STILL not enough.

Did you know that I forgot about my birthday? My SIXTEENTH birthday? The one that I have been awaiting with crude expectation for the last three years And Believe Me That's A Long Time When You Have No Motivation To Grow Up?

Yeah. Clean off of my memory.

I'm not sure if that deserves condolences or a slow but meaningful clap.

You see, school did this. Those evil, evil bastards lobotomised me in my sleep a la The Simpsons where Flanders becomes the unquestioned leader of the world and he takes peoples' brains (ZOMBIES!!!) so that they're all 'Hi-de-lee-ho neighbour-ino' and Homer's all 'AHHHHHH!' and he runs away because he doesn't want to conform to green sweaters and dorkitude.

Yeah, school's like that, only completely not. They stole my brain, turned it into mush and then made me remember things only in a series of deadlines and complicated equations like this one and to hell with anything else.



See? I'm enlightened.

Watch out school, I'm onto you.