
I think there's something in my brain that doesn't quite function in the daylight hours. Here I am, once more, pawing over reference books and tapping manically into dictionary.com (god love that website and everything it stands for), desperately trying to release that 'aaaah bisto' feeling of success. It's in these wee hours that I finally find the sprinkles of much needed motivation dusted over my fourth coffee as I perch eagerly on my chair, fingers hoisted in great expectation over my battered MacBook.
I wish I'd looked after my Mac better. She currently has a sullen grimy look to the keys which I fear has more to do with my absolute obsession with facebook, rather than my courageous attempt to actually be on top of my Uni work. Yet, there's just one thing that halts me from defending my sweet Mac with all the warrior spirit I could possibly muster. If I truly looked after her, I may never see the kind face of the stubbly man at the Mac store ever again. And though he scolds me for my careless behaviour, and mocks my Troy Bolton sticker that sits smugly on the front (I did not place that there by the way, it was a joke from a friend that I've grown quite used to thank you very much) his facial wonders are definitely worth a little bit of part time laptop abuse.