This past Tuesday, which was spent galavanting around Kensington Palace Gardens with some seriously lovely ladies, was absolute heaven. It felt like a dream. I ate gorgeous food, laughed a lot, and felt like I didn't have a care in the world. It wasn't a matter of pride really it was a matter of deep and effective compartmentalization.... essays? What essays? I was skipping on clouds that were suspended high above any sense of reality. Then Wednesday came (cue ominous music), Wednesday evening to be more specific. After a day spent working on my second 5,000 word essay that is due in next Friday (and having made little progress due to Tuesday withdrawal symptoms) I went to open my first 5,000 word essay, which was nearly finished, to find the document only had 2,000 words... 2,000 shockingly poor words. It was the essay of a week ago, not the essay I had been slaving over. Suffice it to say, a certain boy (who, don't worry, is still alive) accidentally saved over my nearly finished essay with an old copy and provided me with some serious set backs ('are you trying to sabotage me?!'). The details of it are boring. After a long tear session, many attempts at figuring out a way to revive it (all which failed) and some seriously puffy eyes later I came to grips with the fact that it was gone and moved on. This is why the next four days are going to be spent inside (not going to a Black Eyed Peas concert or punting in Oxford tomorrow like I had planned) with my head down. Wish me luck? I can't wait till this is over and I can go back to living with my head in the clouds like before I fell from grace.