In twelve days' time, my exams will be over and I can be human again. Yay! Although that's assuming I survive that long. Anyway. Because Leila is totally snowed under with theatre stuff, you will notice that this is not a real post. (A real post has ranting and complicatedness and detail. Well, If it's a real Leila-post it does. Other people possess the magical ability to be succinct.)
I wrote this a while ago now and it works best as a performance poem, but it expresses my mood perfectly.
Sometimes, I want to replace my life with a llama.
You feed it; it stares at you with big eyes,
and grows long silver wool.
And you don’t have to think about things.
When people want to deal with you,
you tell them you have to feed your llama.
You feed it and it grows strong and healthy.
It stands in front of you and chews:
your own llama.
Then you get inspired, and write poetry
about sunlight hitting blades of grass in meadows
and farmer boys with wide gazing llama eyes
and whatever dreams you had last night.
No worries, no advertising, and lots and lots of wool.
The llama life. Seriously. Think about it.