(If you don't get the title - and you won't, unless you are Amelia - don't ask. Please just rest assured that it is innocent.)
One other thing I forgot to mention about that writing course I was waffling on about maybe applying for next year... in your third year, one of the units is 'Fiction and the Erotic.' That is so totally a brilliant reason to go through two years of boring writing technique classes and struggling to make deadlines. To get to learn how to write about sex. (Can it really be that difficult? I very much doubt it, but then, maybe there is some arcane knowledge here that I am missing out on.)
Speaking of deadlines, actually, I would combat this problem by handing in a bunch of pages covered in completely illegible scrawl, with a post-it note on the top quoting Douglas Adams: I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they rush past.
Heheh.
In other news! Today I get to see James. And eat lasagne.
I don't do either of those things often so it's kind of a big deal for me.
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