So in a day otherwise filled with flares, eggings, hazmat suits and bored-looking firefighters tramping across the oval, you could trust the art room nerds to be confined to their usual lair.
With provisions, of course.
And much jiving to the mellifluous strains of the Bee Gees.
In other words: school as usual.
But, really, considering how many extra revision classes I have left + exams + graduation + the formal, it hardly feels like the end at all.
Everyone has their own way to deal with stress. As exams loom on the Year 12 horizon, I have noticed myriad outlets for students in the haven’t-studied-all-year-not-enough-time-to-cram-god-I’m-f***ed situation (i.e. most people), including proverbial binge drinking, eating large quantities of highly salted deep fried yellow things, combusting hapless Sims by buying them cheap ovens and not installing a fire alarm or phone, and eveyone’s favourite — denial. Personally, I go for long walks and cry self-pityingly.
All of this actually reminds me of a similarly traumatic era, one that has scarred my family and no doubt millions of others as we try to come to terms with our tragic, shared past: the re-election of John Howard in 2004. At this dawn of a new Dark Age, poor Mum, after much indefatigable campaigning for the Greens, could only find recourse for her pent up disillusionment by making pies. Lots of pies. As you can imagine, this made me happy, especially when they were cheese pies. But Mummy’s anguish still impacted on my Last Exile-infatuated Year 8 Smoothie Brain enough to write her a song, or rather, re-write a universally-loathed and unfortunately ubiquitous song to reflect the terror and economic rationalism of Howard’s prolonged reign…
Obey America Fair
Australians all let us extort,
for we must fund the war:
It matters not whose war it is;
As long as there’s blood and gore;
Our PM lusts for omnipotence
and we bow to foreign rule;
Let’s slash the tax, and never look back,
Obey America Fair!
Let democracy die and kill free speech,
Obey America Faiiiiiir!
Sung in my screechy faux choir girl voice I thought it was rather effective and jaunty. Of course, it’s slightly less relevant now than it was, but maybe in a few years when the Kevin ‘11 Brigade has rolled past and Mum once again commits herself to the kitchen in the service of pastry creation, I will take up pen and paper once more to write Driving Brendan Spare, or perhaps You Don’t Care (you smarmy hypocritical Queenslanderous bureaucrat), and then This Isn’t Fair! when I appear in court over libel charges. W00t.
Just when I thought my naturopath-prescribed regimen of herbal shiz couldn’t get any more involved…
ANDROGRAPHIS COMPLEX
A jar of Andrographis Complex, as modelled by Butterfree
With an intense minty aroma of wet grass liable to cause a burning sensation if absorbed on one’s tongue, Andrographis Complex continues to delight with its increased range of ocimum, including ocimum tenuiflorum, though never at the expense of the echinacea cassis its name has become so synonymous with. Perfect for an afternoon soiree with friends, Andrographis is still a joy to consume, right up until its expiration date of July 2011.
The first person to guess the three binary oppositional homophones below gets a free glare [e.g. >:( ] I know, I know — so generous.
1.
2.
3.
. 
What excitement! It is now approximately 74 days until my first end of year exam, which means that from now until a month after then I shall be spending most of my time in Mum’s study, alternately freezing my ass off and turning on the fan heater and then feeling guilty about killing the world and not planting any trees and drinking too much orange juice for my already overloaded immune system. From this vantage point (desk > window) I also have an enviable view of our demented neighbours and their Target-denim-wearing spawn, which has provided endless entertainment for many a long hour otherwise spent hunched over deceptively slim textbooks with a font size of 3. But I digress from my main point, which is: NOTHING IS HAPPENING IN MY LIFE UNTIL DECEMBER. If I do indeed manage to somehow drag myself through to graduation, then maybe I will have something vaguely interesting to write about, and more importantly, time to write the damned book. Anywho, until I’ve finished high school this blog and the rest of my life will have to go on hold so that my 13 years of schooling can be neatly summarised into a state-wide rank that will determine my tertiary study-worthiness. Blah.
Until then, enjoy these artfully sliced hunks of camembert. I know I will.
