Andy Warhol once commented that a girl always looks more beautiful and fragile when she’s about to have a nervous breakdown.
If that’s the case, then I must always be at my most delicate. I’m pretty good at being stressed. And on edge. And ready to crack like a particularly feeble egg.
In the past two weeks I’ve gone from having nothing planned to do in my life ever, to being involved in various performances, becoming a committee member for the uni show choir, channeling my inner fifties siren for the drama society ‘Oscars’, destroying my legs through the medium of dance, coating the inner lining of my lungs with copious amounts of hair spray, and spending too many nights awake when I should be snoozing..
Not to mention the fact that I’m also supposedly studying, and therefore should be reading as much as I possibly can. Gah.
On the plus side, when I stress the house suddenly becomes exceptionally clean. Seriously, you should check it out. And numerous amounts of baking gets done. Yes, I’m back to baking again.. Sorry guys, you’ve had a few weeks of stroppy and moody Jess, now I’m back to the disney singing kitchen nazi (: Beaut.
I also may have shopped. A little. Nothing like a bit of retail therapy to brighten up a particularly blustery autumn day. Especially when you end up with arse-kicking wellington boots. I’m not even kidding..
Add that to a ridiculously snuggly dark green grandad cardigan and some extra clompy boots, and this has been a good week.
I like good weeks. They’re good.