Guess who managed to sprain their ankle by simply getting up from the computer!
The answer is me.
I have spent the rest of the day ascertaining that it isn't broken - it is just badly sprained. Which means I may be leaving halls tomorrow, and no final evil shift on Wednesday! Being lame does have its advantages after all.
It's kind of sad that I've seen St. Paul's close up for the very first time today - from a cab window on the way to the Minor Injuries Unit. There's so much here I haven't done, it's ridiculous.
- Mood:ow ow fucking ow
- Music:Ankle Injuries - Fujiya and Miyagi
Tonight has been the first time in forever that I've managed to sign into AIM, but it keeps making me invisible! Plus, I wait around for awesome people, only to take a fag break when spacebee
signs on. And off. ARGH
Also, I will probably be living alone next year, because my ex-potential-housemate is a temperamental twat. The problem is, so am I, and I think only one per living space is advisable. I am curiously zen about the issue now, which is odd. Before I wanted to remove his spleen via his mouth.
I have been erroneously called a bigot four times in the past week. I hope this doesn't carry on.
One more shift at the hell that is Waitrose! Yesterday was the penultimate one, which began gloriously by a pigeon shitting on my hoodie. On the way home my bus was held up by a naked bike ride at Oxford Circus. If nothing else, this is unusual?
- Music:It's All So Quiet - Bjork
Also (perhaps not unrelated?) I found out that "cretin
" comes from the French word for "Christian" - "hence one who is human despite deformities". I thought that was rather nice.
EDIT: I've been bad, but I'll try to be better. I typed lots of inane crap on Twitter today!
Also, I got my Post-War American Fiction essay back, and the outlook for my final mark is good. I didn't realise how FUCKING EXPENSIVE it is to graduate, however.
EDIT EDIT: There is an article
about people's names that happen to correspond with their profession. This is the best one: J. W. Splatt and D. Weedon. The New Scientist campaign was spurred on by the discovery of these two authors of an article on incontinence in the British Journal of Urology (vol 49, pp 173-176, 1977).
I should go and ring some letting agents now, I guess.
- Music:i've got some warts on my dick
It is all done. I have cried about five times already.
Oh my god, I'm so tired. I never, EVER want to read another Dickens novel (and I FUCKING MEAN IT); never want to have anything to do with Tennessee Williams (until I see Streetcar in July - can you believe it? I have been obsessed with him for nearly five years and haven't seen a single play); and especially, ESPECIALLY, never want to see a fat naked man bleeding.
University is... over?
One essay (4 500 words) down. Two more (both 4 000) to go. Oh, plus that damn dissertation.
EDIT: Why am I still sat here, arsing around. Why don't I just go and hand it in.
EDIT EDIT: WHY DON'T I JUST GO AND HAND IT IN.
- Music:whirring of printers in the library
I went on an extended weekend break home, only to be told on the drive back from the train station on Saturday that Deegan split one of his nails - vertically, ow ow ow - and went to the vets on Friday. They operated, but when he got home he bled everywhere. Went back to the vets, and wouldn't stop bleeding. He stayed overnight, and came home Saturday afternoon, bandaged and feeling sorry for himself. Then he forgot about his foot and kept trying to run around and jump like a loony - so our entire weekend was centred around keeping him calm and not hurting himself. Seriously, I wish the vets had given us tranquiliser darts. That dog is a fucking lunatic.
He went back for a check-up and is doing very well. The vet thought that the unstoppable-oh-god-oh-god bleeding might have been caused by worms(?), so he had to have some tests done. They've all come back negative, which has made my mother absolutely furious. She had to scoop up a teaspoon of faeces every time he pooed for those. THAT IS LOVE.
I took some photos on my phone of him, because he and his bandage are very cute. However, I'm wary of exploiting the sick. A conundrum.
- Music:Books from Boxes - Maximo Park
Someone is, providing they get a good overall grade, going to be doing a masters in September!*
* despite their brain going completely blank when asked "You say in your personal statement that you're interested in gender studies... Now, why is that?" OH, THE IRONY.
- Mood:Fuck yeah!/disbelief
- Music:noises of a stunned brain
Saw the Dina Lohan Twitter story, read her posts (not unlike the Sarah Palin blog I kept telling everyone to read) - and now I'm on Twitter. My user name is "equalitystreet" because hur, hur, I love The (British) Office, hur, hur, gettit. I am already quite disenchanted with the whole thing - my very soul has been chilled by Stephen Fry's post starting with "Well had shower shave and something else beginning with sh". STEPHEN FRY. Also, I am very upset because my sister has an account and she never told me. My sister is a SCUMBAG and I hate her. EDIT: In case you can't tell, I'm joking - I love that scumbag to bits.
Also, I was phoned (then, when that was ignored, emailed) late Friday to say that I will be interviewed for my MA on Wednesday. Less than a week's notice? Lovely, and not a bit scary! At the time I was falling in love at the English pub outing to celebrate the end of term. Perhaps the email was sent exactly at the time when he gingerly slipped into conversation his boyfriend. Perhaps. We will never know. I also had a near heart-attack when I read the email, but then felt all zen-like, despite the fact that if I don't get into this course, I may have been taught for the very last time on Friday. Oh dear.
Also, the computer saga has not finished yet. When it was returned to me the first time, they didn't include the power cord, so I had to use my beautiful Sony screen's and use my old silver screen. I am in the same position, because the power cord I was sent doesn't fit. I'd like to tell you that, on Thursday morning, when I was setting everything up and realised this, I didn't cry. I'd like to tell you that.
Finally, I now know what I'm writing for my boring Memory and Time module. I couldn't do "hysterical mourning in the Victorian era", by far the most interesting question, because that would mean lots of Freud, and I need it for my Critically Queer essay (also, I think 90% of people are doing it). Instead I will be writing about... architecture linked with memory in the work of Charles Dickens. Someone please put me out of my misery.
- Music:Ampersand - Amanda Palmer
The Good News:
My dissertation is going to be fucking awesome, and my Critically Queer will be okay too! Also, the first performance of our Beckett plays (well, the one I am in) went really well.
The Bad News:
My dissertation needs more queer theory, and my queer theory essay needs Freud. AGAIN. Fucking Freud! Unfortunately, I have to do Beckett tonight too.
The Weird News:
I never want to have to talk about the wine-bottle-up-someone's-bum scene from "Teleny" to anyone again. Especially not to - not one, but two - professors who were sniggering at my embarrassment.
- Music:Son of Sam - Elliott Smith