It's official.
That uncanny knack of mine cost me half a band in IELTS - I ended up with an 8 instead of an 8.5.
Naturally I was (still am) upset, and lachrymose as I am, I cried over it.
And I don't fucking care about your grades - let's just say it served you right, you stuck-up, boastful self-proclaimed smarter-than-me worthless bitch - let me just assert again that I don't believe in delusional competitions so you, along with your inferior complex, can lay off me.
Nothing's new - it's books, exam, addiction to a new drama series/game/books all over again.
This routine's never getting old I figure.
Since American dramas are all on hiatus until September, I'm hooked onto Susan Elizabeth Phillips' flicks.
So much for having a life.
Oh check out Eat Pray Love if you are lost.