I am ill. I want mulled wine. I want cocoa. I want marzipan. I want movies. I want books - want Nabokov, Woolf, english ghost stories, immortal Bulgakov. I miss Europe. I don't wanna do anything. I don't want to write essays. I don't want to read history books. I don't want to think of the topic for my coursework. I don't want to wake up early the whole next week. I hate the subway in the morning. I am feverish.

Phew! I pushed the month limit of whining! My conscience is clear! Actually I've completed some tasks and take medecine and drink a lot of tea like a good girl, I need to be recovered by Monday. I will.