I’m being brutally honest when I say it’s bloody difficult to focus on Henry Reynolds and the analysis of a book that isn’t meant to be analysed when there are so many distractions.
First, there’s Wimbledon. Wimbledon just started and is going to conveniently end when my holidays end, so obviously I have to see how my favourite men (Federer, Djokovic, Nadal, Wawrinka and Dimitrov in no particular order of favouritism but obviously Federer is my number one and always has been) and favourite women (Serena Williams and Maria Sharapova) are doing. It’s stressful keeping up with their matches, their interviews, their facebook posts and their instagrams. And then obviously, pre and post match talk with my mates. Damn
And secondly, my guilty pleasure. This is really bad because I knew I’d get hooked onto a show but then I still did it anyway. So as I mentioned before, I binge watched How To Get Away With Murder over a weekend and damn it’s so freaking good. The product of that was an intense appreciation for one of the best on screen couples (Connor Walsh and Oliver Hampton) because they are absolute perfection. Their relationship is so enthralling because you have Oliver, who’s cute and smart and shy and adorable as hell, but has this hidden sexy side (And lets be real, every halfie is gorgeous and Conrad Ricamora is gorgeous). And then you have Connor (Jack Falahee and his jawline though. That jawline could cut diamonds), who as a law student exudes this confidence and suave sexiness with his pick up lines and intense gazes, but then is also sensitive and gah.
This is my biggest downfall, because in anything that enraptures me, I give it my all. I have an avid interest in the things that I love, and with my TV shows and movies, yeh it isn’t fun when you have trials, but all you can think about is the fanfiction that’s alluring you away from reality and into a perfect world.
Yes I read fanfiction. No I’m not ashamed. Fanfiction writers for the most part are so talented. Like damn. They deserve to be published and put out there on the main stage. There have been so many occasions where I’ve found myself silently sobbing because the fic I’m reading is so intense and well written. Yes I love my classics, but fanfiction is a solid artform, and writers everywhere should be heralded for what they’re coming up with.
So as the days get colder and nights slowly freeze, I’m holed up in my room, with mugs of coffee and tea, a shitload of work to do, yet surprisingly (no lets be real this is so like me) whenever I get bored of doing integration or motion or writing essays, my mind will always wonder to the happiness of watching Federer’s fine form on the courts or that ability to just re-watch episode 13 of How to Get Away with Murder, and then proceed to read theories for season two.
I’m winning at life. Trials are so close but here I am, chilling with my semi written essays and major work, and frankly I’m so done with it. I can indulge. I’ll definitely regret it. In the back of my mind, I’ll always have the excuse that I thought about doing a trial paper for extension one mathematics, and it’s the thought that counts.
WOW ok I really need to get my shit together. Otherwise there goes my HSC.