Paper Cut Debt

Papercuts. We have all had them, the bastards are tiny little cuts which seem to have an inverse correlations between size and pain, the smaller the cut, the more it hurts.

I believe that everyone has a paper cut quota, where every year they have a certain number of paper cuts they must be given, for those who have a phobia of paper this will be one or two a year, but those who handle paper on a day-to-day basis this could be much more.
Now over the past few years I’ve been lucky and seemed to have been able to stay paper cut free.

But, about a month ago, The Paper must have found out about my paper cut debt and decided that since I had been unintentionally avoiding paper, I would get up to date on my 3 year paper cut debt in the space of two weeks. That’s right, over those two weeks I was getting papercuts from left right and centre. At one point I was getting at least one papercut a day, i was constantly running back and forth from the school library to my car’s first aid kit. Whilst I don’t mind blood, I doubt my teachers would have appreciated the printed essay I was giving them covered in blood.
I ended up spending two weeks looking like i was trying to keep my fingers together with plasters.

I thought by the end of this torture I was up to date with my paper cut quota, and I had satisfied The Paper.

However, last week I decided as a last-ditch effort to revise I will put sticky notes all around the house, connecting one psychological study to an item. There about 30 or 40 sticky notes currently cohabiting with books, trinkets and walls, most residing in my bedroom. They have been lain in dormant for about a week now.
But sometime whilst the house was empty they must have gotten together and decided that I had humiliated them enough by boarding them between book pages and with ugly pictures, and they had to do something about this.
So this morning whilst in my recently woken up, shambling zombie-like state I managed to attain two new paper cuts.
Whoop-dee-doo.

So now I’m off to sacrifice some CD’s and DVD’s to try to appease The Paper.

(Disclaimer: The Paper is in no way related to a certain dark-haired, glasses-wearing, british library agent. But rather the God of paper, and all things paper related)

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Car Troubles.

I have to take the bus into school today so I can do an exam.
Now, I have nothing against busses, in fact I love traveling on them, they are loud and seem to have little or no suspension at all, so you feel every pot hole in the road, but for some reason that’s what makes them so great.
So it’s not the bus that’s got me irked, rather the fact that I own my own car and I have a full drivers license, yet, I have to take the bus to school an hour before the exam and an hour after the exam, what the hell am I going to do for an hour after the exam?! I would have officially finished school by then.

So you’re probably thinking, why can’t you take your car? What’s wrong with it.
Now… This is the fun part. My car is absolutely fine. The problem lies in the fact we have 3 people with driver’s licenses but only two cars. So mine has been taken, so it can go and sit in an airport car park for however long.
My mum is at work so she has the Audi.
So me being the youngest and the most flexible, I’ve got the take the bus.
To make matters worse, I’ve got to take the school bus home. Great, little kids screaming and throwing stuff around, after I have sat, what is likely to be a mind-boggling exam which I don’t know the answers to.
Grouchy Daydreamer + Small kids = another addition to my bloody axe collection.

Damn, gotta dash and wait at a bus stop, will spell check this later.
Have a good day stranger.
Edit : Turns out I miss the school bus due to my exam finishing late and end up on the 4 o’clock bus, having to endure some kid staring at my chest the entire time. Congratulations kid, you have realised I’m female and have boobs, now could you atleast be a little more subtle about the staring?