"I love words, don't you love words?” “..I like 'strangle'".

I should be writing an essay. At this very moment of typing, I have 26 hours and 29 minutes before I need to have submitted a 2,000 word analysis of a French New Wave film. Concerning this word count, I currently have 93 of them. So of course, as always, I'm occupying myself with something entirely different.

Language. I used to think I really liked the English language. I used to think I liked the arrangements of words on a page, the way even the tiniest change in sentence structure could shift the specific inflections and alter the entire text's meaning. I used to think it was incredible to know (yet very often forget) the correct spellings of many words and have a rough idea of the correct uses of grammar in everyday instances. Yet, as my first year of studying English draws to a close, I realise I was very wrong.

Through wasting my valuable free afternoons intently glued to Countdown (yes of course the post-watershed 8 Out of 10 Cats version too), and references to shiny brand new terms in lectures from tweed-clad and coffee-scented men resembling Santa/Kenneth Brannagh/William Moseley/Gerald Butler - who I swore to myself I wouldn't develop uncomfortable and inappropriate crushes on but I've went ahead and done so anyway -, and of course most importantly the downloading of my immensely useful Dictionary app and its "Word of the Day" feature, I've now truly sent free my inner Logophile. I carry around a little notebook every day, so I can be sure to scribble down new discoveries of words and phrases. Even if it makes me feel like a curious child, if I hear a word I'm not familiar with I will stop and ask the big grown-up person for a brief meaning, and if there's time possibly a few uses in context. I am well and truly hooked on languages of all shapes and forms and origins. I BLOODY LOVE WORDS!!!! (That's what Logophile means. I just looked up a word that would describe my condition and I found that out. You're welcome.)

Words are swell. If you can write a tweet/status/post without at least once consulting Google for appropriate and nice sounding synonyms, you're not doing words right. Even the roots of many words we now take for granted fascinate me. I didn't make any rigid New Year's Resolutions this year, but now that we're a quarter of the way through 2014 I realise my own self-improvement will be forever ongoing. It's not just a short-term plan I would've forgotten about halfway through January. I want to expand my knowledge every day and continue learning until my own Grand Finale and I think everyone should do likewise. So if you'll humour me, I'm now going to attempt to channel the Queen of Vocabulary herself Ms Susie Dent, and bring you my own little segment of recently learned lovely words and their respective roots. I've also included a few that I certainly already knew, but previously had no idea of their origins. I'm sure by the end of this lesson you will all be well on your way to becoming very skilled deipnosophists* (see below).


Ailurophilia - n. 'a liking for cats, as by cat fanciers'. From the Greek 'ailouros' meaning cat, and -phile suffix.

Blatherskite - n. 'a person given to voluable, empty talk'. From Middle English 'skite', diarrhea, from Old Norse 'skītr', excrement, from 'skīta', to defecate.

*Deipnosophist - n. 'a personal who is an adept conversationalist at table'. From Greek 'deîpno' meaning meal, and 'sophistḗs', expert.
Lemniscate - n. formal name for the infinity symbol. (∞) From Latin 'lēmniscātus' meaning decorated with ribbons. (Can you imagine if Stephen Chbosky had written "And in that moment, I swear we were decorated with ribbons"?)

Limerence - n. technical term for having a lasting crush on someone. Does not seem to have a lot of secure roots as it was coined by psychologist Dr. Dorothy Dennov in the 70's in order to describe this previously unlabelled emotional state, but I don't believe we should even attempt to refuse more warm and fuzzy words relating to love.

Oeillade - n. 'an amorous glance; ogle'. French,  from 'oeil' meaning eye, from Old French 'oil', from Latin 'oculus'.

Pandemonium - n. literally 'place full of demons'. From Latin (denoting the place of all demons, in Milton's Paradise Lost), from 'pan' meaning 'all', Greek 'daimōn', demon.

Panic - n. 'sensation of fear when encountering Pan'. From Greek, 'panikos' (fear of Pan, who in Greek mythology was a demi-God, and the symbol of fertility, in the form of a faun who would chase after potential human victims). (Mr Tumnus is ruined forever.)

Tsundoku - n. 'the act of continually buying books and not reading them, but letting them pile up amongst other stacks of unread books'. From Japanese, 'tsumu' meaning to pile up, 'doku', to read. Punning on 'tsundeoku', to leave piled up.


These are just a collection of my favourites, and I hope you've found this enlightening. If not, I don't really care. If you made it this far, I forced you to learn.
HA HA, YOU TOOK PART IN UNWILLING EDUCATION.

" I was talking aloud to myself. A habit of the old: they choose the wisest person present to speak to; the long explanations needed by the young are wearying."

I guess I've always been a bit old for my age. I distinctly remember my dad telling me when I was younger that he never liked talking to me in the typical condescending way 'grown-ups' do with children, and preferred to speak to me as he would any adult. I'm pretty thankful for that. Despite the outward appearance of an overgrown 9 year old (often with pigtails and all) I do like to think of myself as being a bit further ahead than a few of my peers. Is that pretentious? Should I care? Of course the term 'old-soul' is thrown around to the extent of being painful to hear, but I do have many tendencies often associated with an elderly lady. Heck let's not even pigeon-hole with genders, I once stood waiting for a bus wearing a scarily similar outfit to the old man I shared the shelter with. Needless to say he was a rather dapper gentleman. But it also looked like we were both members of the same country club.

Matching tweed-style blazers aside, I embrace my aged qualities. Now I'm a fully-fledged and sorry excuse for 'full-time' University Student, I spend a lot of time visiting my gran who conveniently resides in the midst of student flats. Well I say convenient, safe to say she's not a fan of living underneath "THOSE (ANY FOUR LETTER WORD WITH AN -ING) STUDENTS GET A JOB THE BLOODY NOISE THEY MAKE etc etc", and the agreeable situation is purely beneficial for my own napping schedules. Along with being almost constantly equipped with a handful of Werthers Originals and sharing a (slightly less intense) dislike of students, spending time with my dearest Grandmother has certainly increased my already present resemblance to a 70 year old. One who moisturises incredibly well..

I've probably spent more time after lectures watching Countdown than I have drinking with a raucous bunch, and in fact cancelled far too many planned nights out at the last minute due to being more than comfortable with my grans biscuit drawer and several mugs of tea. I'm not saying I'd prefer a handful of Custard Creams over a cocktail every night, but there are certainly times when the latter just seems far too much of an effort.
I get that this suddenly popular novelty of being a cat lady with 'granny jumpers' who enjoys a vat or two of tea every evening is just your typical white teen girl Instagram user these days, but I am intrigued as to why so many of us are content with not following the crowd and succumbing to the sloppy neon attraction of making the most of our Youth and claiming the night as our own. Is it a deliberate choice? Or is it just that, as I assume the case is for myself, we've been uninvited and unincluded in these activities for so long that we've become accustomed to simply spending time on our own in our floral nighties? I'm possibly biased in the opinion but I do think it's a valuable trait to have. Sure being a recluse may not exactly assure others that you're fully committed to the friendships you share, and it can certainly be an issue if you're like me and have a pretty severe case of FOMO, but the ability to spend time with yourself is one to treasure. The ability to settle down on a Wednesday evening in a reindeer onesie poised and ready to watch the 2013 Victoria's Secret Fashion Show while knitting a massive scarf and know you are perfectly content with your quiet little life is something to be cherished.

I can't help but feel sorry for individuals who can even manage to be 'bored' in this day and age, or find they have to constantly beg a stranger from their friend list to 'pop up n chat plz'. I'm not saying we should all be independent mammals who are never allowed to feel lonely or unlively, but don't wallow in it. Don't dwell on what or who you are without, and take full advantage of what you do have. You are born alone and you will die alone, so you might as well spend some time getting to know that wonderful self you will spend the rest of your life with.

I take two sugars, me. Thanks, me.

"You think I'm an incompetent old fool do you?"

On November 23rd, one of television's greatest achievements and an all time personal favourite of mine, the incomparable and simply wonderful Doctor Who will turn 50 years old. The earliest memory I have of this iconic show is from the age of roughly 6, half-watching and half-constantly questioning my mum about a marathon that was being aired through the night, presumably on a BBC channel as part of a celebration of the programme. My most prominent recollection is simply the feeling of being really really really creeped out. Just extremely uneasy about the whole thing. I think even then, I understood the staggeringly common tendency viewers of all ages will admit to of 'hiding behind the settee'. I was also pretty mesmerised by Tom Baker's scarf but I'm sure that's perfectly understandable.
But anyway back on topic, to mark this milestone for such a brilliant show that has recently managed to break into global recognition and thus stolen the hearts and imaginations of so many, I'm watching it all. Yes. All of it. From the very start. Every episode, the 25th anniversary special I have on DVD, the movies.. I'm enduring the tediously slow plots, the horrific monochromatic quality, and Susan. (Ugh, Susan. But more on that later.)

One can argue that I won't be able to watch all the seasons in entirety considering there are still episodes lost and unfound to the world, but I'm doing as much as humanly possible, alright? And there are animated versions of certain missing serials available, so shush.
I do expect this endeavour to take a long time, and in no way do I expect to have completed 26 years of alien adventures in the short amount of Summer I have left. I'm fitting in the occasional episode between my tottering stack of books waiting to be read and the hundreds of gb worth of films and television waiting to be watched (made my way through Orange Is The New Black - it's like an odd mashup of Bad Girls and Desperate Housewives but so much BETTER, watch it, watch it now), so I do hope to have made some headway in time for the 50th anniversary. It's just something I've always wanted to do, and I don't feel I can class myself as a true fan until I'm completely caught up. I'm also hoping it might open my eyes to some Easter Eggs hidden in newer episodes relating to the 'classic' series, many of which are often pointed out by my eagle eyed -and original giver of Whovian genes- mumma bear. (See: John Simm's Master offering Jelly Babies)

I'm currently nearing the end of the first series, and I have to say, William Hartnell is incredible. To those implying that our new Doc Capaldi is 'too old' to fill the shoes of the recent regenerations and keep the show interesting, you're ridiculous. I can vouch for the older dudes, Hartnell has been nothing but entertaining, the nonchalantly delivered line "yes, I made some cocoa and got engaged" may need some context to understand and find amusing, but it's a personal highlight so far. His general indifference and sharp wit is what attracted the attention of viewers in the first place, I'm sure this era can cope with a loss of frantic running around and cute quirky mannerisms that appeal to the casual watcher. Mostly of the female variety and age of teen. Not that I'm huge on the stereotyping but seriously, have you ever visited Tumblr?

Peter Capaldi, regardless of my hesistance to accept him into both of my Time Lord hearts as our new man considering he was already a pretty prominent character in a previous episode(!!!!!!!!!), will be a spectacular guy to transition into. I am keeping my fingers crossed for that accent to remain though, Tennant already let us down!

But back to season one, it really is a delight. Difficult at times to really keep up, and the characters aren't the easiest to sympathise with, honestly even if you thought Martha Jones was bad, the Doctor's granddaughter is the most irritating individual I've ever had the displeasure of watching on the show. ("OH GRANDFATHER I CAHHHN'T! IAN! BARBARAHHH!" ..I'm cruel. And I'm not even sorry.) Ian and Barbara aren't exactly a bundle of laughs either, and their departure won't be a great loss to me, however I am eagerly looking forward to seeing how they adjust back to their roles as school teachers, and if Susan will return to said school as their pupil. I also totally ship them together. There, I said it. I doubt a secured romantic entanglement will evolve, but it's a possible angle that has certainly heightened my enjoyment so far.

Safe to say this journey through time (yeah I did) has pleasantly surprised me, and I'm pleased that despite the hilarious costumes and excruciatingly bad acting I'm not even remotely tempted to quit. It's certainly been an eye opener, and solid proof that Doctor Who isn't a show that needs extensive amounts of CGI shoved in your face or dramatic love triangles. It's simply a show with a lot of history, a lot of heart, and a unique ability to appeal to generation upon generation of families over these many years.

That being said, I think I will breathe a sigh of relief when I reach episodes in colour and of a slightly better quality. I'm also so very excited to finally meet my parent's 'Doctors' (everyone has their firm preference of course), but I do worry that the introduction of Sarah-Jane Smith will make me sob violently into my fish fingers and custard. RIP Elizabeth Sladen.

And so this post doesn't end on such a gloomy note.. This will make better sense to me soon. Ah, Rose. I for one, miss you dearly.

Geek before it was Chic.

Let me start off by clarifying that I do not think of myself as a special and beautiful and unique snowflake.

I do not feel that due to my often fanatic love of cult science-fiction and literature of the fantasy genre, my self-pride in being rather well-educated, my tendency to sneer at those who incorrectly edit their own memes, my love for the musical stylings of the ever gloriously nerdy Jonathan Coulton, or even my passionate feelings concerning technology and HTML formatting and sneaky keyboard shortcuts, that I am "not like the other girls". Let's be realistic here.


I'm terrible at any video game besides Sonic and the Lego projects. I've read one manga in my life and I doubt I'll ever read anymore. The only anime I've ventured into is Pokémon and the occasional Studio Ghibli film. I don't understand every single obscure reference made in an episode of Spaced. The only comics I read are included in Scottish Sunday newspapers, or are those that feature a beagle who moonlights as a fighter pilot, or a sarcastic overweight cat who detests Mondays, or a little boy who should really see a psychiatrist about the imaginary tiger that is a recurrent presence in his daily life.


However I am one of the smaller (however forever on the increase) percentage of human beings that would be considered as being slightly less.. - I cringe as I type this - 'mainstream'.

I will happily profess that I am somewhat of a geek. A nerd. A dork. Use whichever Americanism you're most comfortable with. I feel that years of being teased about my mild (heh) obsession with Harry Potter, my seemingly constant ability to embarrass myself, my regular visitation of such websites, never quite blossoming in the subject at school yet giggling/snorting at many a science joke, suffering a period during my teens when I had truly awful frizzy hair and braces and having a continuing decline in the reliability of my eyesight, I almost.. deserve(?) to be known as a member of this stereotype. As though it were a 'cool' thing to be, and not a form of insult as it originally was.

So surely you can understand my confusion and general annoyance when it comes to the odd trend of folk obnoxiously and inaccurately branding themselves as GEEKS, often in the form of a hashtag. If anyone's even partly to blame, I'm pointing a (One Ring adorned) finger at Topshop.

What I'm sure started out as an innocently ironic design, aimed at those who feel it's cute to be viewed as an "awkward and quirky individual with oversized prescription-less glasses who desperately wants a Deathly Hallows symbol tattoo because they think it's pretty and enjoys broadcasting to the world every time they pick up a video game controller and has a 'retro' Game Boy cover for their IPhone", has now spread like a virus and is slowly draining me of happiness. I'm sure you're all familiar with this poor girl who has been the victim of many an internet jibe from those who feel she just isn't worthy to claim the (apparently now highly coveted) title of 'nerd'.

If you're not familiar with her, it's likely that you are her.

Unfortunately these types are only on the rise. Wearing glasses in public now makes you a #geek. Watching The Big Bang Theory yet only laughing at Jim Parson yelling bazinga, you're a #geek. You went to see one of the many new shiny Marvel films that are essentially designed to be suitable for all possible audiences and take the time to explain any potentially confusing backstory? Oh goodness yes, #geek. Forgive my pretentiousness but even if you are fairly immersed in typical activities of the dweebery variety, taking the time to blatantly point it out, or wearing a T-shirt that makes a song and dance about it, you are simply negating any possible credibility. It's that simple.

Items of clothing such as those pictured above are essentially everywhere these days, the latest culprit being Primark and their hideously affordable and thus much easier to stock up range of neon crop tops bearing these stereotypes. Needless to say I had to go the extra mile in displaying my disgust.

Simon Pegg once stated that "Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection. It means never having to play it cool about how much you like something. It’s basically a license to proudly emote on a somewhat childish level rather than behave like a supposed adult. Being a geek is extremely liberating." And yet I feel the majority of those who don 'geek' apparel or flaunt that they're living the dorky lifestyle take more time to build up this title than they do appreciating things that would make them suitable to be known as such. Approach a casual watcher of Doctor Who that has just exclaimed how excited they are for this week's episode and that they are SUCH A GEEK WOW and attempt to fuel a conversation about your certainty that Clara is either Jack Harkness's daughter or Jenny regenerated or the CAL computer that River Song eventually ends up in and that the fact Neil Gaiman wrote this new episode makes you really happy because his steampunk-esque episode last year was sensational and you're so ridiculously excited to see what he's doing with Cybermen - and the chances of them responding with a vacant stare or simply a dirty look is high. Because they're just not programmed to think about specialised fiction that way. And yet they have the audacity to try and steal a role that has taken so long for Us (yes, we are a United People) to become at ease with and eventually even feel proud of. 

I can only assume that I've come across as one of those Holier Than Thou bastards that condemn anyone without a wardrobe full of cosplay outifts as JUST NOT NERDY ENOUGH ZOMG STAHP!!!!! but I'm actually just trying to reclaim a tiny bit of justice. Don't attempt to be a poor imitation of those you once deemed outcasts. In this you will only fail.

(..epicly. ;DDDD)

The ugly years of being a fool, ain't youth meant to be beautiful?

This time next week, I will be twenty years of age. I am nowhere near as accomplished nor as graceful nor as ultimately just grown up as I expected I would be by this stage in my life. Forgive my heightened neurosis, but the subject of increasing age is one that still terrifies me. I'm doe-eyed in the headlights of oncoming time and there's nothing I can do to prevent it's inevitable arrival. I guess the only things that keep me from spiralling into a mid-mid-life crisis are the luck of forever being cursedblessed with permanent Baby Face and a Vertical Hindrance. Both my appearance and mindset will always have the tendency to be child-like, and I can't really ask for anything more than that small grasp of innocence I'm still clinging on to.

So as an avid lover of both pathetic sentimentality and Rookie Mag's Friday playlists, I decided a fine way to celebrate/commiserate my last month of Teen Age would be to compile my own personal soundtrack to help me through this stressful transitional period. Expect generic songs about never fully embracing adolescence, a handful of songs that have been included purely because they have 'Teenage' in the title, and also a few friendly reminders that this isn't actually the end of the world. Because I desperately need the reassurance.

everybody's changing and I'm no exception.

Now that this year is steadily drawing hurtling to a close, I find myself reflecting on the past twelve months and realising I don't really have a clue who I am any more.

Well okay perhaps that's a tad melodramatic, but I've certainly noticed some changes in myself. Ones that perhaps a past version of me would slowly shake her head at my present self for allowing, but at this moment in time I can happily say I'm content with the transitions that have occurred. I used to have views and opinions that governed my very existence, strict rules.

• Thou shalt not wear 'onesies', they are horrific and for babies only.
• Thou shalt not listen to or remotely appreciate the musical stylings of The View.
• Thou shalt not wear leggings as trousers.
• Thou shalt not make such a fuss over Lord of The Rings and Star Wars.
• Thou shalt never utter the phrase 'YOLO'.

2012 has seen me break all of these rules. Every last one. 

As I type up this post whilst wearing the reindeer onesie my sister bought me for Christmas that I instantly fell head over heels for, I can't help but wonder how I ended up at this point in my life. I'm also curious as to why I'm writing this piece and reading over it in my head in the style of both Tyler Durden and Dave Lizewski in their respective narrative films. Neither of these ponderings do I have the patience or the motivation to answer, as to be perfectly honest the only reason I'm writing this is to avoid finishing up my application for uni, as I'm terrified of pressing that always ominous submit button.

So, please humour my train of thought as it spirals madly out of control. My head is somewhere else entirely.

The delivery of my sister's H&M S/S catalogue really forced it to hit home that Winter is ending. As one of my favourite seasons, it comes hand in hand with my favourite lines of fashion. Thick pieces of clothing in burgundys and plums and chocolates and forest greens and the staple black make up 90% of my wardrobe, so inevitably this sudden influx of pastels and florals unsettled me at first glance. But I would be lying out of my derrière if I said I didn't enjoy letting my sickeningly feminine side show, despite often trying to tone it down in my daily life in order to not appear any more like a 10 year old. This is why I'm taking this particular blog post in a different direction to my usual ramblings, compiling a wishlist of Spring inspired pieces that I cannot wait to invest in next year. 

The dress is an absolute beauty, I'm not huge on the garish floral patterns that seem to be predicted as next Spring's trend, so a subtler pattern and texture such as this one is ideal for me. It's a truly gorgeous neutral tone, which would allow it to be accessorised with any number of different colours. But of course being extreme with my clothing has never been in my nature, so I would probably just team it with a pair of tights or a similar shade of chunky over-knee socks, such as the ones in my compilation.

Regarding footwear, I've had my eye on a pair of Chelsea boots for a very long time now, and despite the fact they're more of an Autumn shoe, with the amount I walk and the less than pleasant Scottish weather, they would do my feet so many more favours than a pair of easily worn down ballet pumps.

I'm a huge fan of blazers, and due to my unhealthy fascination with the fashion style of Caggie Dunlop, I so badly want one of the tweed variety. I would probably purchase one that's deliberately oversized so it could act as more of a coat than a blazer, and as soon as I have money to spare I'm on the lookout for one on ebay, or if I'm lucky I might come across one in a charity shop!

The bag is my favourite piece. At only a fiver on ebay (can you tell I spend too much time browsing that website?), it's so lovely and cute and - dare I say it - quirky, that I absolutely need one. Asian items are forever on my list of most wanted.

And last but certainly not least, I already have a similar shade to this nail polish but I've heard nothing but wonderful things about Essie products, and it must surely be of a better quality than the Primark brand I'm currently donning. The range of colours they offer are all so lovely, and an investment in a bottle or five is one I should look into as soon as possible.

I swear I'll talk about something a tad more intellectual and insightful next time.

My slow descent into festive induced madness.

It's that time of year again. Shopping centres are packed with anxious bargain hunters clutching letters they saved from being sent to the polar bears in the North Pole, windows are alight with harsh florescent bulbs in festive shapes- WHICH ARE NEVER SET ON STATIC, and every song ever played anywhere you go comes with a complimentary dollop of cheese and an abundance of prepubescent choir boys.
The countdown to bankruptcy and overdosing on seasonal sugary treats has begun.
My underwear would be well and truly ablaze if I were to say I'm not utterly in love with it.

Maybe it's the constant expectation of a miraculous snowfall, perhaps it's that gorgeous rush of warmth pouring over you when stepping indoors and escaping the bitter cold, or hell it's probably still just the child inside of me anticipating ripping open that wrapping paper on Christmas Day. (Although I feel I must admit as I've gotten older I now have the annoying habit of tentatively peeling off sellotape and neatly folding the paper into a tottering pile, "just in case we use it again". But of course, who ever does..)

Regardless of the reasons behind it, the Christmas season is when I am in my element. If you're familiar with The OC, you could say it's when I transform even more into Mr Seth Cohen. His array of bold festive sweaters jumpers, the fact he composes a hymn set to Death Cab For Cutie's song A Lack of Colour, his overwhelming enthusiasm when attempting to persuade his less than willing family to join in with raising festive cheer.. He embodies everything I want to be when it comes to December's celebrations.

This could explain why, about a fortnight ago, I was having what could only be explained as a minor breakdown - due to the fact I couldn't remember whether the majority of our LED lights were 'warm white' or 'cool white'. (Believe me, there's a difference.) It could also explain why I've already bought my gift paper in bulk, along with a multitude of tags and bows and confetti, and started stocking up on candy canes. I've also invested in two beautifully-scented festive candles (of the stupidly expensive Yankee variety obviously), and a new doormat for the household, adorned with a cheerful Santa accompanied by a majestic snowman. Even the delivery of these hefty packages at half past seven in the morning from our poor postman can plaster a smile on my face for the rest of the day.

This frankly obsessive behaviour may seem charming and quirky in print, but having what can only be explained as an extensive case of Christmas Fever is taking its toll. My family and bank balance are both nearing exhaustion. I'm frequently in a panic over the price of gifts, how many gifts to buy, if I have enough cards to hand out to my new college friends, how soon Tesco are going to scrap their special offer on After Eights, if I can ever find baubles the exact same shade of aubergine as our wallpaper..

My mind is a mess, cornered by decorative sprigs of holly.

Still, I know that once that truly magical day draws near, my frantic planning will be worth it. As long as I spend the Eve watching Nightmare Before Christmas whilst getting some last minute wrapping done, I'll be content. As long as my sister and mother have a smile on their faces when opening their presents on the morning of the 25th, I'll be stupidly satisfied. As long as I get to continue the long standing tradition of watching A Charlie Brown Christmas at my fathers (both the original and the dub by the Scrubs cast), I'll be positively giddy. As long as I'm handed a beautifully overflowing plate of food while sitting and watching The Flint Street Nativity with my beautiful family, I will truly be one of the happiest ladies on the planet. In the end it all culminates to that. Spending a glorious day eating yourself silly with those folk you love most. And hopefully if there's any food left you'll continue well into the New Year. I certainly plan to.

...

28 SLEEPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!