not a real person

In yet another brilliant demonstration of maturity and competency, I started planning my trip to England (specifically Newcastle, York, and Manchester) on Thursday with the intention of leaving on Saturday. After having written down an entire bus schedule, my flatmate and I then discovered that hostels in these cities are expensive as fuck (if you'd like to take that literally, know that they were probably cheaper than a prostitute, but more expensive than we would have liked). Almost no deliberation was necessary to come to the conclusion that while, in theory, we'd like to explore England, we weren't willing to pay through the nose to see some quaint cities that we knew very little about. So now I'm going to be in London until Thursday because sleeping on your friend's dorm room floor in the capital is better than sleeping in an expensive-ass bed in a place that you've gotten mixed reviews on anyway. Upon purchasing my bus ticket, I felt vaguely guilty but nevertheless thrilled that my irresponsibility had led to a plan that I didn't know I was more excited about until a last-minute decision had to be made. What's less thrilling is that I've managed to stay up until 1:30am and the taxi to the bus station is arriving at 5am and my only excuse is that I've been packing, looking up things to do in London, and writing this blog post because procrastination is a skill I've been consciously honing since the age of 13.