New to the site? Delve into the archive Information about me List of collected quotations My poetry sites Other links: The ineffable Michelle Infinite Fish The Echelon Project The 80s (my era) Move to Mars See Ann Widdecombe dance Think I complain a lot? The Yarn |
Thursday 6.12.01 I came in here an hour ago, intending to work, and stupidly decided to quickly check my email beforehand. I have just finished writing messages which really can wait and generally procrastinating about pretty much everything scholastic. Anyway, mustn't bitch, as I must make up my mind as to whether to go to my Theory seminar. I am inclined to say no, even though it's really one of my favourite courses. This is probably because I haven't done my reading and my tutor will therefore smother me with her all-encompassing cardigan until I run out of air. I seem to remember frequently commenting last year (mainly to Kath because she was the only one who would listen to my insane rantings) that she could easily fit the odd corpse under that tent she wears. I now realise not only that I was right, but also that she probably does. But then Kath and I probably would deserve said asphyxiation, given that we spent her lectures last year giggling at the back of the lecture theatre whilst trying to make the blackboard which she was standing in front of her fall down on her by sheer force of will. Saturday 8.12.01 Lack-of-bought-presents-or-even-thoughts-thought-pre-Christmas panic is starting to set in. And it's all bloody Kath's fault: she sat in my room yesterday telling me in some detail about what she was buying for whom etc. This is actually quite a pressing problem: term ends on Friday and I have approximately five minutes before then to get to Oxford Street and try to find something for housemates, course people, other Uni people blah blah blah. I am thinking of changing my name to Eberneezer and claiming I have no money (true, given the amount I have been spending recently) but I know this would not wash. So. What to do. Weeeelll, the *first* thing might not be to wander around Waterstone's and pick out books which *I* would like for Christmas, of which I have now amassed a list of about 39, and perhaps start thinking a little more altruistically. Naah. Sod Christmas. I'm going book-shopping. Monday 10.12.01 Having written the above during my lunch-break on Saturday, I realised during the afternoon that I just can't be arsed to worry about Christmas. I think Adrian Mole hit the nail bang on the head when complaining about this time of year: 'It's rudely thrust upon us when we're least expecting it, and then snatched away just as we're beginning to enjoy it.' I have come to realise in life that there are loads of little things like this, and it's just not worth bothering about them. Like next year, for example, when I'm meant to be going off to study in Berlin for 5 months. To enable me to do this, I had to write 100 words on just why I wanted to go to Berlin in particular. I sweated over this last week as it had to be in by Friday, wrote and re-wrote, and then at about midnight on Thursday, I realised that I couldn't give a mouse-sized crap and jotted some idealistic crap down about the Wall and went to bed. This lack of stress enabled me to sod all of my work on Saturday night and get dragged along to the Queensway ice-disco by Claire. Grudgingly, I admit it was really quite good fun, although I bitched severely about my feet hurting. We had the added bonuns of going with 'aggressive' John and Johnny, who are both lovely, I'm sure - I would be a little more certain, however, if I understood anything they said. I'm sure they *do* speak in English, because I get the odd word, like 'knuckle-duster' or something equally pacifistic, but other than that I am left to nod and laugh at random intervals, hoping they aren't in the middle of a narrative about how their pet died last week or something. So instead of trying to communicate, I simply stood in the queue for the rink and made farmyard noises just as loudly as possible with Swyrie in an attempt to embarrass Claire. I love re-visiting my childhood. Tuesday 11.12.01 Few new bits in my poetry stash so do go and have a look. Expect much more Sophie Hannah in there soon - what I have found so far I like enormously... Think I might not have got away with failing to read William Tell in German. I was planning simply to skive all the seminars about it and concentrate on Faust which is what I'm writing my BIG essay on (watch for bitching in the next few weeks - believe you me it's on its way), but methinks missing three seminars in a row might look a little suspect. Methinks therefore that Judith, who leads said seminars, will garrotte me. |
