You know, I'm getting a bit fed up with doing nothing but work. I suppose someone must have misled me at some point. I thought you went to school to learn, and at home you did homework, not schoolwork. But every teacher continuosly repeats that we must keep working at home, and no, we cannot put our feet up (or do anything we want to). It's all very well saying I don't have to work, that I can do what I want, but I'm afraid if I do that then I'm simply going to fail the bac. Why? Because the science teachers, at least, took too long over the programme and now, when we have at most two science lessons left, there are still a lot of things we haven't done. And besides, in general we don't look at everything in class and have to work at home. J'en ai un peu marre. Juste un peu, un tout, tout petit peu.

Oh, and on Wednesday I had to go to hospital because I managed to get a fish hook stuck in my toe. I went for a brief bike ride with my sister to the lake-pond-thing, and had been there barely one minute when I suddenly felt as if I'd cut my foot on a taught blade of grass or something. I look down, and see a piece of wire sticking out of the side of my big toe. It didn't hurt or bleed that much, but I was quite "freaked out" by having this thing stuck in my foot without me being able to pull it out. It made me feel...I don't know, trapped, or something. Anyway, so I had to cycle home like that, and as an extra plus point a wasp blundered into my handlebars and stung my finger. There was a man at home, who had come to look at the house, and it was him who gave the fish hook diagnosis. 

So Mum took me first to the local doctor, then to the hospital, where I had to wait for half an hour or so (relatively quick, although it didn't feel it at the time), until a doctor was free to look at me. I had a local anaesthetic in my foot and had to breathe in a gas which was supposed to relax me. I didn't want to be artificially relaxed, so I suppose that's why it didn't work all that well. And the anaesthetic took about twenty minutes to work, instead of five - and all through that time the doctor was poking my foot with his needle to see if I could feel it. But eventually they got the hook out, having made a lot of comments like "They must have big sharks in your village!". I felt really weird when I stopped breathing in the gas; heavy, dizzy. And when I was breathing it in, while I could think and speak clearly, there was a strange sense of disconnection - as if the sounds and images were coming into my mind separately. Anyway, now I'm limping around like a silly idiot, and I do wish I had some crutches!