Braindance

I shake my frail frame into existence and shower. Eat a teacake, which I notice is actually a pleasant treat for my taste-buds, as opposed to the usual cornflake horrors that welcome me in the morning. Sleepily make my way to the bus stop with Hugo and stand there, swaying, until the bus arrives. Clamber aboard, and spent the journey flittering in between reality and a dream-world. Tilt my head down, close my eyes, and charge for History, first period. I write about 6 pages before leaving the classroom, in a state which could accurately be described as shock. Willfully get right back on the 88 home, in plenty of time for my Doctors appointment, or so I thought.
A grinding hour and forty minutes later, and I am sprinting towards the Surgery, tongue lolling out my mouth like a Labrador, with the eyes of a madman. I receive nothing but a suppressed chuckle from the receptionist as I pronounce the Doctors, and finally my own name, wrong. Dr. Georgilin increases the dosage of my ineffective acne anti-biotics and tells me to 'stick in there'. I tell him, in my mind of course, to stick himself in his own cunting premature grave the poncy tosser.
Make a grueling journey back to college to arrive late to photography, which I fail to lift a muscle to do any work. Nick looks, at first I think disappointed, but then I realise it's disgust.
"Why are you so late Luke?"
"I HAD DOCTARS OR SUMINT"
Round off the day by going down to olde Falmouth town, in hope to take pictures with newly-rented-straight-out-the-cunting-cereal-packet camera, come back empty pocketed, and, unsurprisingly, praying, as I do every night, for the reaper's grasp.