I don't have that much to announce either, only that exams are a bitch (like we didn't all know already), that the Belgian weather really should decide what it wants and just dump the bloody thunderstorm on our heads already instead of making me suffer and sweat through that clammy pre-thunderstorm atmosphere, and that the travel blog is set up, but currently empty (constructive criticism about the way it looks and all the rest more than welcome).
You'll find it here: http://bolivianbourlingue.blogspot.com/
Oh yeah, it's in French. Since it's going to be enough of a challenge just to try and understand + speak Spanish asap, I figure I should keep my priorities in mind and stick with the other Italic language that I know. Also, as the biggest part of the readers will speak French, it's kind of the logical choice. Of course English will stay my first love, but I'll probably end up speaking it like a barbarian, which is what every exchange student tends to do: mix the local brogue with some piss Bamboo English & a dash of their own language.
I've already invented my own name for it: Embroglio. It sounded better than 'Shaken, not stirred'. We aren't talking about vodka-Martini's in the end.
Anyway, I've got to get to bed to go on stressing a little about my piss-poor maths, and Newton's binomials and pigeonhole principles, statistics and the fucking maths behind Google will surely crowd my nightmares. I feel the belly-ache coming up already. Stupid exam jitters. I can't even dance the jitterbug. In fact, I can't dance at all, I've got no rhythm and two left feet. Pity for the others on the dancefloor that I love to do it. And about the belly-ache, Harry Nilsson's got a plan:
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