Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (motivational books for men .TXT) 📕

brain, and I have a feeling I aced that exam.

Because under no circumstances can you be rubbish at physics when you want to be an astronaut.

I checked NASA’s website as soon as I got home, and turns out they’re always looking to recruit people who are willing to go on long-duration space missions. Like a mission to Mars.

I mean, no one is going there just yet, but current missions are perfect simulations of what such a journey could look like, and you spend eighteen months in isolation with your crew. Which is brilliant, because you get all the excitement of interstellar travel without the threat of your body exploding in the vacuum of space by accident.

And you eat space food the whole time, so my stomach ulcer/cancer could just shut up.

The pain is totally back, FYI.

PS: Mathematics 1 tomorrow. Bring it!

Thursday, May 24 #Space

OMG, this morning in the toilets Polly sunk the lowest by succumbing to the oldest trick in the book and literally shoving a scroll with mathematical formulas down her underwear. I swear it must have been the most intellectually complex thing to ever have touched her vagina. And of course she didn’t go to the toilet during the exam to casually peruse it, because who actually does that?

When we were waiting to go in, Polly was like: “Miriam looks like she’s about to pass out,” and something unexpected (sentiment?) happened to me mid eye-roll, and I went over to Miriam and said: “You know you can actually do this, don’t you?” But before she could open her big mouth to reply, I walked back to stand with Polly, who was completely nonsubtly adjusting her pants/vaginal scroll.

Anyway, I think I did well again. Seems all I needed was the prospect of silent spacy solitude, and my synapses were falling all over themselves to make it happen.

PS: Apparently your body doesn’t actually instantly explode in a vacuum, but it’s something that science fiction writers made up for dramatic effect. According to the internet, you may be able to survive a one- or two-minute exposure to the vacuum of space.

What’s also fascinating is that apparently the liquids near your body’s surface would evaporate instantly, like the moisture in your eyes and even your spit.

Imagine your spit evaporating.

PS: You can buy space food at the Science Museum. Maybe I should go and buy some.

PPS: Painting with Cats is gone, and apparently nobody remembers selling it. Bet Kate’s reading it right now.

Friday, May 25 #EnglishLitHell

Today occurred the horror that is English Literature 2.

I had a nightmare last night that I couldn’t find the right room, so when I sat down at the desk this morning, the paper in front of me, I felt a certain sense of achievement already.

Apart from that, I want to never speak about Romeo or Juliet ever again. They’re dead to me (LOL, I’m so funny).

It’s officially half term now.

This week has been so stressful.

9:05 P.M.

I took a picture of my bruise and sent it to Emma.

She wrote back:

Tease.

And then she said that she’s planning on studying in the mornings next week, and working at the thrift shop in the afternoons.

I think I’ll do the same, because I need to not go insane from studying.

Saturday, May 26 #TreePollenGate

My brain feels foggy.

Maybe it’s hay fever.

According to the internet, symptoms for hay fever are:

runny nose and nasal congestion

watery, itchy, red eyes (allergic conjunctivitis)

sneezing

cough

itchy nose, roof of mouth, or throat

swollen, blue-colored skin under the eyes (allergic shiners)

postnasal drip (LOL)

fatigue

I’m actually not displaying any of these symptoms, apart from fatigue, but the tree pollen count was high today, and I ended up with actual pollen in my hair. Which may have caused the fogginess.

Emma and I went on a Starbucks run for the shop this afternoon.

It was really hot, dry, and sunny today (hence the high pollen count), so Starbucks was literally Frappuccino central and we had to wait for ages. I was casually leaning against the cake and muffin counter, just a little bit in front of Emma, and all of a sudden, I felt her hand in my hair.

Emma: You’ve got tree pollen everywhere.

Me:…

Emma: Did you sleep outside or something?

Me: I have no idea. I mean, no.

Emma (laughing, picking yellow bits out of my hair):…

Me: Are you laughing at me?

Emma: Why would I laugh at you?

Me: Because I’m always such a mess with bruises and tree pollen and having to wear shit from the thrift shop.

Emma looked at me.

Just looked at me.

And I noticed that I hadn’t noticed her eyes in a while, and I blamed it on the exam stress, and then I noticed that they look different now it’s almost summer.

She smiled and took a strand of my hair and twisted it around her finger, pulled on it slightly, and I didn’t know whether I should pull back or let her pull me forward, and so I gave in to her until our faces were so close I could feel how warm she was.

And then she said: “I don’t think you’re a mess.”

I looked at her mouth, because I couldn’t look at her eyes anymore, but that didn’t help, and I ended up saying something like: “Hmngh.”

I watched Emma smile and lick her lips, and I was just like: “I forgot what we were talking about.”

Emma let go of my hair, nodded, and said: “Yes.”

Yes.

Yes what?

Yes?

When we got back to the thrift shop, Kate announced that we (as in the shop) will be given a special honor for raising all that money for the Star Wars poster.

The overall boss person of the cancer charity is going to come to the shop to give us a certificate or rosette or whatever.

To be honest, I was only half listening, because all I could hear in my head was Emma’s yes.

11:14 P.M.

I don’t understand why things with Emma are so different. I mean, Polly picks shit out of my hair all the time. It’s nothing special; I don’t even think about it.

LOL, if I told