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When I have finished my Masters…

I will celebrate with a toasted sandwich. A big fat one.

I will write more poetry.

I will blog more often (or, indeed, at all).

I will stop thinking of weekends as something that only happen to other people.

I will write to my Nan.

I will read The Tales of Beedle the Bard and then Murder on a Midsummer Night, because I was given both of those for Christmas and have read neither.

I will knit leg warmers.

I will buy a celebratory bottle of Hendrick’s gin.

I will finish the manuscript I’m writing.

I will practise my clarinet more often.

I will go to Tasmania and eat all their cheese.

I will get the washing done: bras should not be considered “clean” because I’ve worn them “only” three times since their last wash.  Pants are not “clean” just because they’ve rested for two days on the floor since I last wore them.

I will clean my study and reflect (briefly) on the irony that I will only have time to get a clean desk when I don’t need it so much.

Dudes, twent-four hours.  It’s so close I can smell it or something similar.

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