The Postmodern Chronicles Of Hayley

One may notice a reoccurring theme in these blog posts. Here I am, again, sitting at the computer in the Bradfield Library. I have no reason to be here, other than the fact that I slept at Tom’s house last night and he, Yolanda and Rob have an exam today. So I guess you could say I came along for the ride. I finished all my HSC trial exams yesterday, and I am certain that I fucked them up.

Truth be told, I haven’t been very well at all lately. I’ve been working myself almost literally to death to get my PIP (Personal Interest Project) done, and I still didn’t get it finished. I keep getting reassured that it was a good project nonetheless, but I know that the Board Of Studies are a bunch of dumbarses and they can’t handle an assignment without a finished conclusion, introduction, contents page, log and appendix. But you know what? They can go fuck themselves and deal with it, because I spent an entire 10 months slaving away to get it finished. I’m just so incredibly disappointed in myself that I never got a chance to prove how hard I worked. All I have to show for my hard work are a pair of dark circles under my eyes and losing 5kgs off my body.
If I think about it, I’m gonna get depressed, so I’ll refrain.

Last night, Tom was showing me a drug educational video that he was featured in making his acting debut (putting up his hand in a classroom scene). I thought it was ironic that TAFE NSW chose Bradfield of all colleges to film a drug education video. It’s like filming a video on morbid obesity in an anorexia rehabillitation clinic. Another irony is the fact that Tom was as high as a bloody kite when he auditioned for the role and he STILL got it! I guess he had the ‘baked’ look they were after.

An ex-student of Bradfield turned up at the park the other day making his presence known to anyone who’d pay him attention. He’s apparently at university at the moment. I’ll tell ya, this drugged up, rail thin, rotten teeth, no hoper was living proof that they accept anyone into university. You don’t have to be a brain surgeon to get into uni… Nor do you even need a brain.

What have I realised in the last weeks? It won’t make me any less of a person if I don’t achieve as high as possible. I doubt that later in life I’ll have a problem with occupational ageism, because no matter how old I am, I’ll be sure that I’m a hot MILF/menopausal/senior citizen. Besides, what employer wouldn’t want to hire someone who knows the entire dialogue to the first 10 minutes of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off? That’s right - NO ONE! So I’m set up for life. :)

This morning after washing in Tom’s pathetic shower (the water pressure is like, minus power) I was taken aback to school. His mother (who’s a school teacher) greeted me at the bathroom door with a stern expression shaking her finger at me, “Hayley, get a wriggle on, you were in the shower for way too long! You’ve got to leave.” I haven’t had a finger shook at me for years! I’d forgotten how degrading it was to be recieving this kind of discipline when I’m two months off adulthood. When my brother is too long in the shower my mum or I just go and kick the bathroom door, which is followed immediately by the ambient linear sound of the taps being turned off.

I know for certain that when everyone’s finished their exam, I’ll be going home, jumping in the shower and putting on a change of clean clothes. If I have any clean clothes… I’ve been wearing the same second hand khaki military shirt (preowned by a bloke called HOGAN) for the last two weeks. It’s comfortable, but I doubt people’s noses are at ease with my bodily aroma.

For now - PEACE OUT BRUSSELL SPROUT!