Two days to go.

Feeling adventurous this morning, I cooked myself a fried breakfast consisting of one egg. Don't laugh - it's a remarkable feat, especially when you consider the uneven domed shape of our ancient frying pan. I must have hit Richard over the head with it one too many times when we were younger.

Meanwhile, Chekhov decided to throw up on my Networking exam paper. (I should point out that Chekhov is a cat, and not the identically named Russian novelist. My dad chose the name, without considering that none of his children would be able to spell their pet's name throughout primary school. Actually, one of the cats before Chekhov was called Pushkin, and my teacher in Primary Two "corrected" it to Pusskin in my Language jotter. I never really liked her much after that.) I got a bit distracted there and can't remember where I started the parenthesis, but I meant to say something about Chekhov showing remarkable consideration for a cat - not only was it easy to clean up, but it was also the piece of paper that I least wanted to see again in my life.

I had a dream about getting my exam results back. They were being handed out in a large hall by a museum curator for some reason. I had a grade 10 for Computation, high grades for Networking and Engineering, and for Algorithms I didn't have a grade at all, just a "Satisfactory". I hope that when the real results come out that the grade for that course is indeed "satisfactory", and not, as I fear it will be, "comical".

My laptop has now been relocated to the living room instead of my bedroom, because I'm no longer able to stand the temperature that the room is kept at. I can't blame my parents for it, because unusually for winter, the house's central heating is being kept on and is working, but my room resists any temperature change and remains Arctic-standard.

Other things about the house annoy me, though. Nothing seems to be done when I'm not around - for example, the taps in the bathroom haven't worked since I left for University in 2002. Also, it would be hypocritical of me to call my parents hoarders, but both the kitchen cupboard and the medicine cabinet are full of vague bottles and jars marked with warnings like "Do not use after 1987". That's not an exaggeration - and for the bottle of pills marked with that date to be that old, they would have to have been bought when my parents lived in Cardiff, taken to Bristol and kept for a few years, then relocated again when the family moved to Scotland.

Inverurie isn't much better, though - the roads may move about a bit, but the new development Station Square is still two shops surrounded by a vast gaping space. I'd also like to moan at the library for not allowing access to Livejournal as it contains "hazardous material". To be fair, looking at the quality of literary content of many livejournals, this assessment is pretty accurate. While I'm on that subject, I would like to say that if one more TDC member sends me a mail with more "lol"s than sentences in it, I'm going to throttle them.

I'm not really that unhappy with life. It's just that complaining is more entertaining than saying how great things are now that I don't have any work to do and will be seeing Whitney again in just a couple of days. Actually, I will have to start thinking about the junior honours project again - I'll have to ask Roja about how to get the robot to move accurately, provided he survived the aftermath of the exam.

I'm now going to re-install Monkey Island 2 again and play it instead of typing more, because the keyboard is starting to make strange noises. "Use banana on metronome". What a classic.