Say HELLO to the sun. There it is. Trapped behind a cloud, but there nevertheless. Brush your teeth, comb your hair, ban a few tracks from the iTunes playlist, and say HELLO to the sun. From now on no more wallowing. Mooching around in pjs is strictly verboten, as is lying on your bed staring at the smudged line of blue ink on the wall.

Lying in bed, just like Brain Wilson. (How does he lie? Did he patent a position?)

You will paint over that smudge tomorrow, or maybe even today.

Make a carrot cake. Write letters to your friends. Buy or make a birthday present. Get your ear pierced again.

Train tickets in a white envelope. Ready to go, almost. Ready, steady…

Only one hurdle in the way; that little sheet of paper with letters A-U. On Thursday. You won’t care too much if those letters aren’t all A’s. The chances of that happening are slimmer than Kate Moss. You won’t care, because next year you won’t try so hard. You will sit on that hand when it gravitates towards the air, move to the back of the clas, turn up late to at least three classes a week, skip French when the prospect of facing a double on forms of the subjunctive are too terrible to even contemplate.

Maybe it’s time to rule out Cambridge and Edinburgh.

Love,

The bossy part of me.