Spring and some guilt

Hi spring!

I've missed you. The winter wasn't really harsh, but you know how I love you.

Anyways. Onto some guilt. My spring break is over. The blossoms haven't even had the time to bloom properly yet and already we're thinking about summer. I wasted my break royally. Royally.
The 7-day escape to Paris was worth it. And I had promised to slog my arse off once I returned. I've been back home for three weeks and I haven't worked at all.
My folks think I'm working hard. So they think.
I somehow always manage to avoid the 'how are your studies coming along, hon?' question everytime I have a phone conversation with them. They don't know I'm over my head with piled up essays and reports. They don't know how I wile my time away watching Cheers on the internet. They don't know, and neither do I, as a matter of fact, whether I'm going to end up with a first class degree or not. The guilt in question, comes from knowing how much my father's spending behind my education.
But oh yes, Paris was amazing. Absolutely orgasmic. And I've come back with this irresisitible urge to give up everything and become a pastry chef. Ridiculous? Well, I suppose.

But even with this bit of guilt inside, I'm happy about spring. Our backyard, unkempt and uncared for, is yellow and green and is watered by the rain almost every other day. The summer sale's going to be on next month...can't wait to splurge some more! And oh, all the tubs of ice-creams I gobble up everyday are starting to show. Not in places that you can see at the moment, but wait a while.
I'll leave you with a photograph of the above mentioned backyard.