I only realised on Monday night that due to my slight ‘issues’ during schooldays I have never actually sat an exam. Handy really because it made me realise there was no need to be nervous as I had no idea what to expect but as it turned out it was the same as we’d done in practise just a little more intense because I only managed three hours sleep because the tossers put them on so motherfondling early!
What’s that about? Freaks!
Anyway, I don’t like to brag but I reckon I smashed it. I need a pass to go on to access course. Obviously higher marks would be good but so long as I move onwards that’s good enough.
Maths next week, now that is going to be a bitch but same thing; go in; head down, think a lot and hope for the best. Only got to get a C. I reckon you’d have to be an Effing C not to get that but I’m only a borderline contender. Stopped school at thirteen really so my intellect only goes up to a year eight equivalent if they do 11 years. It doesn’t matter how much you learn in the ‘real’ world nothing can make up for that lack of education. I’ve always felt thick even though I can do some things really well. I don’t know why knowing a little algebra helps but it actually does make a little difference. Actually, every extra bit of information you can cram inside the cavity behind your eyes is a help to self-esteem and seriously, without that you’re fucked!
All those years of guitar, photography, what is it? fifteen novels and I still need that little bit of algebra to prove I’m not totally thick!
Anyway, I’ll have four, possibly five novels out within a twelve month period so I can’t be that thick eh? Can’t sell any of them or even get anyone to read the poxy bastid shite but the work is done, the proof is in the pudding, not that I’ve made any pudding. In fact I’m useless in the kitchen. The last time I cooked anything was over a year ago and thank the Lord of testes for that.
I wonder where these ridiculous cliches come from? At least I’m starting to recognise the things when they crop up and I make sure not to allow them into my novels unless merely for effect. Better to make up your own, like words. Not every word has been invented, if Shakespeare could get away with it then Broc Silva can chuck a few out there too.
E.g. Disaturised: a mild infraction to the psyche; a slight instability; a minor mind-shiver.
Never say I didn’t contribute something to the greater good.