Introducing Mr Crazy

Hear that? That's the sound of awkwardness. The sound of many numbers and a lot of letters that we don't need and would rather were scrapped to make way for the important stuff. I'm talking about November. November is hands down the most boring and pointless month of the year for many reasons, which I shall now list:

- It always lacks any exciting events.

- It's nearly the end of the year but not quite.

- It's bloody freezing but refuses to accept the welcome of snow.

- It's the third month of the academic year causing an abundance of 'cbf'itis

- It's the month of dread wherein mock exams are usually done.

- It's just a long 30 day wait until advent calendars can be officially opened. 

Alas, my dear friends, there is only a mere FIVE HOURS  to go before the mighty month of December. I have waited 11 MONTHS for December for one reason and one reason only. Drumroll please, and do be upstanding for the most tremendous event of 2010 and possibly of past centuries...HHHEEEAAATTTTTTTTT!

...what do you mean? Christmas? Who's Christ? Is that pronounced ChrisT like TreyC? Anyway, stop interrupting me with your insignificant affairs and let's go back to this amazingness. It is indeed, finally, slowly approaching those four !!!!!! days. Like a lion advancing on it's delicious prey. Yes, just like that. Then going in for the KILL AND RAVAGING THE BEING IT HAS GRASPED WITHIN ITS PAWS...oh. 

Remember that little thing I went to, I don't know if you'll remember it, it was called THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE feat. DAVINA MCCALL. It might ring a bell. Well I am preparing myself for identical mental happenings, which may include being speechless; giggling; gasping; within self screaming; speaking a language that has yet to be invented, etc etc. 

When I first got my work experience placement at Heat I went ape shit crazy. Proper loony screaming wetting self crazy. Said crazy symptoms lasted for around a week before realisation that I had to wait a whole year set in. So for the past 11 months Mr Crazy has been lurking at the back of my brain quietly snoozing, and at intervals would stir from his slumber and dip a loony toe into my active brain, causing an eye pop or a corner of mouth smile or maybe even (if I was lucky) a short burst of adrenaline. But now, oh now, Mr Crazy is wide awake and has adopted a penchant for divebombing into my frontal lobe and releasing clinically insane adrenaline through my veins and even to my voice box causing an excited MEEEEEP every now and then. 

Now taking Mr Crazy's antics into account, I am worried for the health, safety and sanity for everyone at Heat Towers, because this could go either way...

ONE - I could channel Mr Crazy into the creative and personality part of my brain and put him to good use, proving my experience to be a useful one and coming out of it with pride and knowing I made a good impression on the Heaters and that they enjoyed my company and ambitious and innovative ways.

TWO - Mr Crazy could completely take over and cause me to be a complete and utter wreck for the said four days, making me silent and awkward at some points, or obnoxious and embarrassing at others. I will be a fool and come home every day in tears with paranoia seeping through me and will therefore combust into a small pile of dust on the tube. I'd prefer the former way but let us let fate take its course.

I've waited years for this. Heat is the reason I wanted to become a feffin' journalist for feff's sake. I remember picking up a copy for the first time and buzzing with excitement that a bulb had just been lit in my brain, that I wanted to write stuff. Funny stuff, inspirational stuff, stuff that people would remember. The little man at the local newsagent used to have a fresh copy waiting for me on his desk every Tuesday morning before school. I'd read it in a certain order, passing it around at break and lunch, cutting out parts I wanted to keep. I did my whole GCSE Art final piece on Heat. MY BIRTHDAY CARD WAS HEAT...

Now I have a subscription and launch myself onto my bed every Tuesday, ripping the cellophane and spend devoted hours flicking through the pages. I'm going to BE there in 20 days. Me! There! 20 days! SCREAMFALLSEXPLODESRUNSBANGSBREATHES. I'll be fine right? Yeah. Just fine. Nothing to worry about. *leg jitters, eye twitches* Now if you'll excuse me, I have some patient waiting to do. X