Leaving

For those who actually read my last post and are dying to know this: I didn't fail my French exam. I even got a 4, which is beyond anything I expected. So now I'm done with high school (again), and I just recieved proof of my achievement in the mail. Yes, because we fancy Norwegians receive our diplomas in the mail. Anyway.

Know what most people do on a Saturday night when they're about to move to another continent? They party with their friends, or meet up with family members. Know what I do? I paint my nails.

After a long day at work I kinda needed some me-time. I'll multitask from now on though. Maybe I'll paint my nails with my friends, imagine that! Gaah, 5 days to go! Happy/sad/nervous/excited. Oh, it'll be grand. Honestly, I can't wait. But I've got a lot to do before Friday... After a good night's sleep, of course.
'night!

Les trois mousquetaires

So, we get one chance at an oral exam. Just one subject. I sorely wanted English. Religion wouldn't murder me. I could suffer through most of the other subjects. If I got French I would surely die. So of course I got French. Unless the examinor is charmed by my ability to perfectly pronounce "Je ne sais pas" and "Je voudrais une licorne rose", my chances at even passing are slim. But after a couple of hours contemplating schemes to end up in either jail or the hospital on Wednesday (the day of my exam), I.. well, kept on contemplating even more complex schemes. But by now I've decided that I wouldn't very much like to spend my last weeks in Norway in either a hospital or a jail, so I guess I'll have to study and try my best to pass. So far "studying" has meant listening to someone reading Les trois mousquetaires by Dumas while trying to read it as well, all the while not understanding shit. I think I'll need to work on more basic stuff. Like saying "Hello, my name is Heidi" and such. Oh, I simply cannot wait for Wednesday.

Oh, I got a fancyass "I feel your despair" present from Julie (thankee hon :D), with a note begging me not to live up to my nickname. It's staring creepily at me right now, so I'd better get back to mon francais. Tuer-moi, s'il te plait.