On sleep deprivation and being generally happy

Hey there silent blog readers, it's been a while. Almost a week now right? Sorry about the delay, it's been hard to fit blogging into my daily schedule nowadays. Today marks nine days left until hand-in of the project on the 13th, which of course is causing a hell of a lot of stress. However, I feel like things are finally shaping up, and I've really come to love my project again. Yesterday I had a moment of clarity on a space-saving issue and I wanted to high-five myself all day for the rest of the day. Of course there's a lot of work left, and I predict the usual 12-hour days, >100 hour week that predates hand-ins, but all in all I've started to feel really good about my project, which in and of itself is really neat.

Fuck yeah.

So for the question that may or may not be on your minds right now, how did things work out with Hemingway? Things have worked out pretty good all things considered. I'm a person with a pretty large need for my own personal space, which in a one-room hotel apartment isn't ideal, but all in all it's been nice. We don't agree at all about movies (and he has this annoying habit of watching a movie from like half-way through, or getting bored in the last 20 minutes and wanting to do something else, also he flat-out fell asleep in the first ten minutes of Pulp Fiction, which should be illegal), he snores, and also has a habit of waking up way early, and then waking me up too. People who know me know that I love sleep. Like seriously love it. My ex tried to wake me up early once and I growled at him in my sleep, that's how much I like sleep. And Hemingway hasn't had a habit of waking me up in calm, nice ways either - he dug his chin into my back, and another time fucking tickled my feet and I had to control myself to not kick him in the fucking face. This morning he woke me up at 5 am, to which I threatened him that if he wakes me again before 6 am (unless the building's on fire or there's an imminent danger of death or grievous bodily harm) I would eat his face.

Obviously I'm still happy with the situation, despite these minor bumps, seeing as I still want to stick around. We have fun together, the other day we made sushi, he's survived meeting parts of my family, and he's the only person I've dated who's gotten me any kind of jewelry that I actually like.

Candy rings rule.

I haven't had a candy ring since I was seven. He even got the grape flavour right and I was ecstatic. He's such a sweetie. I can be whiny and make things sound like I'm feeling super grouchy about everything, but all in all I'm happy to have him.

Having stayed at the hotel all week, I've thought a bit about them, generally. Although hotels are terribly impersonal, they're kinda anonymous in a practical way. Speak English with anything but a Swedish accent and no-one will ever think to question if you actually belong there. I've been staying for as long as Hemingway, which sure, the room's still the same size and will be used about as much, but man, I've been scoring free hotel breakfasts all week. They don't check at all. My theory is that you could walk into any hotel pretty much anywhere and just dig into the breakfast buffet - people won't be any wiser. It works in pretty much the same way as sneaking into bars in Liverpool before I'd turned 18 worked - look like you think you belong there. Walk right in with confidence, and people will assume that you've got your shit together. Not that I have my shit together at all, but you know, fake it 'til you make it.

Infiltrate the breakfast buffet!

Speaking of fake it 'til you make it by the way, my thesis received a passing grade and I'm super stoked about it. S'all good now.