Shit just got montREAL.

So, five weeks today, I've somehow got to leave the family that I have spent everyday of the last twenty years with at Glasgow Airport, make it to Heathrow, the busiest airport on the globe and then fly to Montreal, Canada, a country I've never been to before in my life and on top of all that somehow,  mature and learn how to become a responsible adult during a seven hour flight.

Forgive my scepticism but even I have no faith in myself.

The thing, is when people ask for my advice, I will gladly give it and generally, I'm quite good at it. I like to help people. But I have a confession to make. It's all bullshit. I make all this stuff up. I don't have a clue and now, I'm paying for it, like a metaphorical Peter who cried wolf (or something). And this is not about believing in yourself, oh no, this is about knowing your limitations. And I have many.

When I was in school and people would say, 'Oh I'd love to go on exchange, that is my thing', I was the person who was convinced she would never want to do that sort of thing because that ain't my thing. Now look where I am. Why did I choose this course?

Don't get me wrong, I'm so grateful for this amazing opportunity, I appreciate what it will do for me and I know that there's a 95% chance I'll get there and never want to leave but I'm a home bird. I like my creature comforts and I like familiarity. I'm not an adventurer or an explorer. Unfortunately, the one trait I inherited from my mother was the capacity to think of the worst case scenario of everything and stress. Lots of stress. MAHOOSIVE AMOUNTS OF STRESS. Am I allowed to worry about these things or am I just being silly? I can't tell.

However, I will digress from the anxiety attacks for a moment to share with you all, possibly the most absurd and disturbing thing I've seen in a while.

www.greatwallofvagina.co.uk

The first impressions formulating in your mind when you read that link are probably correct. This guy makes plaster casts of woman's vaginas to celebrate diversity and prove to women that all vaginas are different and you shouldn't be ashamed of your own. Personally, I think you've got too much time on your hands if you are worried about that sort of thing.

On the whole, I don't really mind the actual idea. I guess it could empower a very small minority but seriously, SELLING THE STUFF? I do not want to walk into a house that has casts of vagina just hanging on the wall, minding its own business. And I'm not a prude, I just think it's really strange. Especially, the gold cast one... 

Also, I wish to point out I don't actively seek these things out, I found it in Closer or something (Problem page FTW).

A Scottish Educational Haunting...

Not much has been happening here. In fact, I spend half of my blogs explaining my absence (this must stop).

The past month has been a... revelation of sorts. I think third year has arrived with a metaphorical kick up the arse because I have never felt so crumpled by the work pile before in my life. And then coupled with 'Canadia' stress (It was christened Canadia by Devon) and now honours entrance, I'm drowning. And I believe I'm drowning in 'Real Life'. God, does growing older ever stop getting worse?

As it is the penultimate year of my degree (what?), I have decided I'm going to take a bash at getting an internship for next summer. Now, I can't lie, I doubt very much I'll make it past the application process in most of them for two reasons.

1. Very little Proof that I will attain a 2:1 degree - Which is a pointless thing anyway. How can you employ someone on the basis that they MIGHT get a 2:1 degree? You might get someone who does and then goes into Honours year and falls flat on their face. Conversely, you might get someone who decides they are going to work their booty off in fourth year despite the fact their grades were substandard in second year (Aka, moi).

2. Maths test - I had to do a maths test on the very first one. Given enough time, I can work something out but I was given sixteen questions and eight minutes to do it. I don't like pressure. And then I ran out of time. I cannot believe, after two years at University that mathematics are still haunting me. It's like a slap in the face everytime. I hated maths and I still hate it and you wouldn't be asked to answer a complex maths question in a minute in the workplace. No. It just plain sucks.

So yeah, rant over.