Tuesday, 22 May 2012
Post-exam foot-related travesty
I have two things to tell anyone who reads my blog. The first one is: all my exams are over! (Hooray!) This also means that the second year of my Psychology degree has come to an end, and only one year remains. (Plus like another billion years if I get to do my doctorate, which is Plan A. Plan B is to join the circus as the hairiest woman in the world.) It's not until exams are over that you realise that your muscles can finally relax and you can take a deeper breath than ever before, because they really hang over you like a dark cloud. Most of the time you spend revising you feel miserable and any time that you're not revising you feel guilty. But as from half five yesterday afternoon, exams are over for this year.
And this leads me to my second item for today's blog post: my feet are completely wrecked. And somehow I think this is my friend's fault. Yesterday when I was done with my exam (which is on the second floor), I walked downstairs and somehow landed on the first floor for a little while to sip on post-exam-beer and just generally feel the stress slowly fade away. (Sidenote: Isn't that so typical here? Under your exam hall, there's a pub.) While I was there my friend suddenly exclaimed "Are you wearing your Converse without socks? Does it not hurt?"
Apparently, not wearing socks is completely alien to certain people. And so I had to answer in my most stuck up voice "In Sweden lots of people don't have to wear socks at all for the warmer six months of the year" as to point out that in Sweden the floors aren't as cold as they are here. This makes me sound like a terrible person, but I'm not really. It's just an on-going joke with this friend, we banter and make fun of each other's countries. Later on that night I decided to go out with my university friends to celebrate the end of the year and I still wasn't wearing socks but I changed into a pair of high heeled boots for good measure. I've worn these boots so many times before with tights and they're unbelievably comfortable.
However, at some point last night my feet started hurting. I ignored it and assumed that somehow, drinking wine inflated my sense of pain (uh yeah, because it's so well known that alcohol enhances rather than numbs pain) and anyway, everyone knows that wearing high heels pretty much always hurts. All is as it should be. But after positioning ourselves in a pub and I realised that walking without wincing was getting pretty difficult, I snuck to the bathroom to check on my poor feet. And they were massacred.
Today I'm wearing no less than six plasters on my feet. You might think I'm making a big deal out of nothing, but once I had sobered up in my own bed at home, the pain kept me awake. Not to mention the fact that my toes look horrific and I never want to see my shoes again. This is what I get for being such a shrew.
I really didn't mean for most of this blog post to discuss my feet. It's also really sunny outside, apparently it's going to stay this way all week and tomorrow I'm a classroom assistant!
Still from Bladerunner, found here.