On the day that should have been the path leading up to the fork in the road that decided what happens with the next two or so years of my life, I did nothing particularly noteworthy.
Because my assessment got cancelled, I spent my morning in the hotel room just…hanging out. I was in no hurry to spend time getting lost in Nottingham, so instead I took an earlier train back to Birmingham in order to sit in front of the train station’s departure board for five hours. OH MY GOODNESS IT WAS NOT TIGHTS AND SHORTS WEATHER. I NEVER LEARN. My reasoning for going early was that Birmingham New Street had a WHSmiths, and I’d get a book to tide me over. I did. It was a terrible choice for the line female traveller, full of stalking and assault, but a good read. (The Book Of You, if you’re curious.)
Then it was a fairly uneventful train journey back home, save for the attractive guy that I kept staring at in the reflection of the window. I felt genuinely bad after a whole. After all, nobody goes out of their way to get objectified on a strain by a stranger – I’d hate it if someone did it to me, so consider this a reverse Rush Hour Crush. It’s a bit of Rush Hour Remorse, if anything.
I then occupied myself by eating a burrito and getting rice all over. They’re so delicious, but so bloody inconvenient to eat.
To round my day off, I had an email about my role at Mach Fest this year (I’ll discuss that once it’s all been finalised) which is exciting, and I got back to our house to find that Mum’s Mother’s Day present has FINALLY arrived. I can no longer be thought of as selfish and uncaring. Well, I guess I can but it wouldn’t be very fair.