On a whim, I have made a new LJ. This one was procrastination for Mods; it feels only right that I should start again for Finals. I will be at lostcontent and will actually try to post occasionally.

This has got me fuming. I also object to the timing: o hai terrified freshers!

Would writing to the editor be a good idea, or just give the damn article more publicity than it deserves? Plenty of people have already commented and said lots of what I want to say, after all, and I fear anything I could write would just end up being too bitchy to be helpful. I take issue with nearly every point  she makes, but in particular I'm feeling the urge to gush about how patient, reasonable, tolerant, informed and realistic the academic and pastoral staff at Merton have been in dealing with me and my various mental health ailments.

Apologies for taking my head briefly out of the sand only to whinge and then disappear again - I do actually hope to catch up properly with everyone soon. Back in Oxford on Sunday and having pretty much anything resembling free time eaten by the Greek play until the 18th.

Short version: cat with AIDS seeks quiet life, any takers?

Please comment or get in touch with me if you know anyone who might be able to have him, or have any bright ideas, and feel free to link randomers to this page. My mum has advertised him on various websites and cat chatrooms and things, but so far this has yielded nothing apart from the suggestion that we target the gay community because he would make a good AIDS mascot.

THANK YOU!

For no particular reason, I've decided to go Friends Only...I think I know everyone who's reading this, but on the offchance that I don't, leave me a comment if you'd like to be added...

Ah, it's great writing essays on no sleep and with woefully insufficient preparation. Makes you feel like you can get away with anything just to pad the sodding thing out a bit. I've just had a go at a fairly well-respected scholar (as far as I can tell) for being 'patronising' to Sophocles. I may get a bollocking from Evil Tutor but I JUST DON'T CARE. Hurrah!

Oh God, oh God, oh God...waddling back from the library looking like the proverbial drowned rat just now I suddenly encountered...the most gorgeous creature in the world. Seriously.

I went to school with him and had a massive and pathetic crush between the age of about 9 and puberty (when he went through an unfortunate beardy phase and I lost interest), and I knew he was in Oxford doing PPE somewhere but had been studiously avoiding him since we both came up. I'd seen him once or twice on the High or down at the river during Eights but had always panicked and pretended to be very interested in the floor until he went away.

But today he hailed me by my front door and we had this really awkward conversation where we tried to sum up what we'd both done in the last two years and mine consisted of 'Er...well...you know...work and stuff...yeah...what about you?' But oh God, really really beautiful people just panic me. This guy's not attractive to me, particularly, but he's like a rugged kind of angel. Blond with massive blue eyes and cheekbones and aaaargh. The kind you'd want to sleep with just to tell yourself you did, but for no other reason. And yes, before you all ask, I got his number. No, I didn't ask if he was single. It's not likely.

I'm far too traumatised to do my essay now. Three hours tomorrow morning is plenty of time...

Grr. My tutor is just being deliberately annoying now. How unhelpful is it to put simply 'Davidson 1985' on a reading list?! Particularly when it's the first essay on a new topic. Nowhere in her bibliography or the faculty one does it give anything by anyone called Davidson. I refuse to wade through all the Davidsons in the OLIS catalogue trying to find one who may have written something about the Ajax. Grrrrrrr!

Uurgh, this is hell. It's taken me a good few hours to summon the energy just to change out of last night's tragically crumpled black tie, and now I somehow have to produce an essay from nowhere. And I've got the sickening aftermath of a really great all-nighter - a vague, disastrously smeared mix of residual drunkenness, hangover, tiredness and caffeine-high, none of which seem real because the world is swirling and shimmering hazily like a soap bubble. I need to go to the library but just dragging my white and shaking self to the shower and back has finished off what remained of my energy reserves.

It was such a great weekend. I will post in more detail when I've slain the essay-dragon. For the moment I shall record a general feeling of contentment with how everything went, despite the odd emotional rollercoaster-y bit, and apologise profusely to the poor souls who had the misfortune to catch me at a low point. The highs more than made up for it...

OLIS informs me I have no choice but to go to the fucking Sackler to get the journals I need as I've left it too late for a stack request. Bugger. I feel like spending a day pottering quietly around tidying up and doing boring menial tasks.

Right, I know I really, really should be writing my essay now, but Microsoft Works (one of my favourite oxymorons) just did something so heinous that I needed to share it with the world.

I just tried to write:

...(Thrasymachus)..defends the view that justice benefits the stronger...

which MS Works automatically changed to:

...defends the view that justice benefit's the stronger...

AND I CAN'T BLOODY WELL CHANGE IT BACK!

Oh well. Little things, little minds.

I'm so bored I might have to unplug my network cable in the hope of actually writing this damn thing. Too many distractions online. Like LiveJournal.

Ooh, I can get Phronesis online!

(Well, not literally. That would be REALLY cool. But being saved a trip to the Bod is better than nothing.)

Hmm. I've left myself with about 18 hours in which to read the text for the first time since sixth form, do the reading and write the essay. That was silly.

Just got in. I've decided that randomly wandering around North Oxford at four in the morning is good for the soul, every now and then.

I know I bitch constantly about living in a field in the middle of nowhere, but for the record, the air smells really fucking good here. As long as it hasn't been a bad cowshit day or anything.

Amusing if not entirely accurate...*coughs*. I'm sulking because I bloody hate the New Bod.

Everyone, do it, do it now!

Despite the best efforts of the Heathrow Not Very Fucking Express, I'm back in the Shire.

I really like travelling by myself...not the going-to-new-places-and-meeting-new-people bit of travelling, for which I need friends, but the mundane, airport-check-in-changing-tube-stations bit. No idea why. It makes me feel all powerful and godlike with efficiency, except when I do something stupid like get lost. But hey. So that's what I've been doing today.

(Except I didn't get lost. I'm a big girl now.)

I was on the Underground to Hammersmith and a girl got on and sat next to me, and after a minute she tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out that we were wearing exactly the same coat. So we laughed and had a random chat about the weather (of course), the cost of renting in London and how it's depressing that no-one ever talks to each other on the tube, and parted merrily when she left a couple of stops before me. Which reaffirmed my faith in humanity a bit, until I noticed that everyone else in the carriage was eyeing me suspiciously from behind their newspapers and copies of the Da Vinci Code (WHY is there STILL at least one person reading that book on every train I ever get on?!). Clearly I was Marked with the stigma of Token Weirdo Who Talks. I could see them all looking at each other in a weary kind of 'Doesn't she KNOW?' -'No, she's not from around here, I couldn't help but hear her say something about Somerset while I was trying to sit in sullen silence' -'Aah, that would explain it'. -'She'd better not start on ME next...' way. Grrr. To quote (or possibly paraphrase) Bridget Jones: 'When I first came to live in London I used to smile at everyone until a man on the tube escalator masturbated into the back of my coat'.

Still, it's better than the suspicion-bordering-on-open-hostility that rhymeoverreason and I met with whenever we ventured out in Berlin. A mother and daughter were openly glaring at us on the U-Bahn and whispering fearsome-sounding German (admittedly, most of it) to each other at one point. It can't just be that we're English and vaguely scruffy. I won't go so far as to say that the Germans (well, Berliners; the people not the doughnuts) are generally brusque, rude and unhelpful, because I'm not a fan of stereotypes and we were only there for four days as tourists...BUT, it was my experience that whenever we met a Berliner who wasn't any of the above three, he or she rather stood out.

Nonetheless we had a brilliant time with andy_godfrey and Penny..our antics including all-you-can-eat sushi, a shisha bar, a salsa restaurant and dinner with Penny's lovely flatmates who valiantly tried to include me despite my woeful lack of German. Oh, and some, y'know, museums and and stuff. The East Side Gallery, which is the last remaining bit of the Wall, about a mile long and covered with all sorts of graffiti, was brilliant. The highlight for me is definitely clubbing on our last night...our guide book had informed us that a certain place was 'classy, retro and oh-so-Berlin' and promised decent music on a Sunday night, so off we trotted. When we arrived there and coughed up an entire euro each to get in, we discovered a smoky hole decorated like your nan's living room and playing shitty Spanish pop. However, by the time we'd downed a couple of drinks in despair, we were treated to some good music along the Beatles Stones Clash Smiths Ramones lines, and danced like idiots until five in the morning. My neck still hurts. Much fun was had by all, although Isabel and I discovered YET AGAIN that getting on a plane with a thumping hangover is not advisable.

So I returned home laden with goodwill and Belgian chocolate, and as usual I'm instantly deflated. Not that there's anything drastically wrong with my home or family, and not that I mind, for once, being in the middle of nowhere given that I really need a rest, but it's such a come-down after a few weeks of being myself and thinking hard about stuff and feeling mature and self-reliant to have my parents being randomly frosty with me and making me feel like a moody fourteen-year-old.

Hence the Current Mood: Depressed. But all will be well tomorrow, as I have lots of mundane yet cheering tasks like laundry and unpacking to do. And my parents will have to like me again when I give them presents.

I am also filled with totally unjustifiable optimism about next term. It will be summer and there will be no more prose comps and I'm (apparently) doing the interesting bits of Greek Core and all will be of joy. This is where I start making rash new-term promises to myself like 'I'll start going running in the Parks three mornings a week', 'I'll actually cook properly instead of buying food and letting it rot', 'I'll be sensible about money - i.e. admit that I don't have any - ','I'll make a real effort to spend time with all my college friends', 'I'll do all my essays a day in advance and read 200 lines of text every morning' as well as that perennial favourite 'I'll shift that extra stone and a half that's been plaguing me all my life'. One day, perhaps, I will do every, or any, one of these things. But probably not.

Lots to say but I'm sleepy now, and very excited about getting reacquainted with my bed. Angst may follow at a later date...

For a better account of the last week or so's fun and frolics, see rhymeoverreason who is far less lazy about updating than I am!

Well, life has been pretty good since I last posted...I went from being bored in Somerset to being nauseating at Steve's for a couple of days, then from there to Oxford where I indulged in paint-scraping, pub-hunting and catching up with various cool people...then to Belgium via Coventry. Brussels seems to be quite a funky city, or maybe it just takes being shown round by someone who's from there to make the bests bits visible. Either way, I seem to be getting more out of this trip than I did the entire month I spent inter-railing the summer after leaving school, which featured lots of veiled cat-fighting, a distinct lack of fun and an abysmal lack of planning (resulting in us consistently managing not to look at the guide-book to each city until we were on the train leaving it and going 'oh, we really should have gone here...').

We had a couple of days in Brussels and then got the coach to Amsterdam and checked into our hostel, which was surprisingly clean, quiet and drug-free (a rarity in that city and a welcome relief). Then we didn't really do any of the 'cultural' stuff, not least because Isabel was suffering with a grotesque infected uber-mouth-ulcer and I got a random stomach bug, but had a great time nonetheless sitting in coffee shops and trying various types of hash and weed (cautiously in my case) with varying degrees of success. I managed to exorcise the demons of my last Amsterdam trip (no pun intended) by not blacking out in the toilets of the 420 Cafe, and acquired myself a new porn-star name during one of our random stoned conversations. Dusty Hash-Fingers at your service...

Anyway despite random afflictions we had a great time - I'm not really a 'Drugs Person' but it was fun to take advantage of Dutch law, or lack thereof. I'd forgotten quite how sleazy people in Amsterdam can be sometimes though, but maybe it's because we ended up wandering around the red light district on Friday night which I don't think I did last time. It's amazing what men think they can get away with in busy, well-lit areas - guys were randomly grabbing at us both, hissing things and trying to follow us around. Not pleasant, especially not for a naive little country girl such as myself. But in general, the city itself isn't at all sleazy or sinister, just because it's so very open about everything that you don't get the impression of there being a sleazy underbelly as much as a proud, defiant and cheerful sleazy overcoat.

And rhymeoverreason has a new tattoo! It is a lovely little bunny leaping across the moon with a pair of stars, truly a thing of joy. I want one now, and was almost talked into going through with a design I've been mulling over for ages, until I suddenly had a brainwave - when I get home I'll ask my mother to help me plan it. That might sound a bit random but it feels right somehow, for lots of reasons. Firstly, she's an artist and I've always liked her style, secondly she'd (I hope) be touched, and thirdly she'd be flattered that I thought she was cool enough to ask to help me design a tattoo, and would therefore be less likely to disapprove (maybe you'd have to know her for that last one to make sense, but trust me on it). Not that my parents could really justify their disapproval if I got a tattoo at the age of 19 - luckily my brother's pushed the boundaries of their tolerance so far that I can probably get away with just about anything.

I'd really hoped that I would get my Mods results while we were in Amsterdam, so that I could drown and/or fumigate my sorrows in style, and had been checking my e-mail every day and getting more and more pissed off. Not as pissed off as I was when my brother phoned me an hour before we were due to get the coach back to Brussels to tell me that the letter had arrived, however. Oh well. I got a 2.1 anyway, but don't know my breakdown or average yet because Crap Tutor is apparently out of the country. I then had a four-hour bus ride to sit and process the information instead of getting spectacularly wasted.

It's weird - I genuinely was expecting to get a 2.1, but I was also expecting to feel fairly shit for not getting a First. But the main thing I feel
is relief. Relieved that I got what most people get and didn't embarrass myself by doing too badly, yes, but also relieved that I'm finally free of the pressure always to be the best that I (just like anyone who gets into Oxford) had when I was at school. Now I've proved to myself that I do vaguely deserve to be here, even if I'm never going to excel, and if I get my act together and do better at Finals, I'll be genuinely pleased rather than just relieved that I've lived up to the standard. And if I don't, it's not the end of the world. So yay.

Of course, this could all just be self-preservation bullshit and perhaps as soon as I get back to Oxford I will collapse into a heap of angst and inadequacy. But I had lots of time to examine how I felt about my 2.1-ness on that bus ride, and I decided that my only bitterness is with the fact that Dan (aka The Smuggest Bastard In The World) got a First and I didn't. I am genuinely OK with getting what most people at Oxford get, especially given that I've had a lot of good times with great people, a life outside college and a boyfriend in the last year. Well, I'm OK with it for now, at least.

Anyway, we now have five days or so to chill out in Brussels before we fly to Berlin to visit andy_godfrey, who has been wonderful and booked us a hostel, and Penny as well. I'm still suffering with this stupid stomach thing, which is unspeakably annoying, so have spent most of the day in bed unable to find the energy to move and feeling sorry for myself. Luckily this is a good place to be ill, as rhymeoverreason lives in a huge old house full of books and interesting things. A night of movie-watching and carefully sipping water awaits us now...mmmm......

I really should be packing as I have to get up at stupid o'clock tomorrow morning and my bed is currently covered with 3 weeks worth of clothes that unfortunately aren't going to stuff themselves into a very small bag. But yay! Tomorrow I'm going to see Steve and be all relationshippy, which despite recent random angsting on my part I am actually looking forward to, and then on Wednesday it's back to Oxford for a couple of days before rhymeoverreason and I go to Brussels. Is anyone around and up for doing something, anything at all, but preferably involving conversation and/or drink? I have been starved of human company (well, the family have been vaguely present, but I said human...) for far too long!

Oh dear. I'm too hyper to pack and far too hyper to sleep. This is going to be an unproductive night. But I repeat: Yay!

Well well...I'm amazed and flattered that my options have generated such interest! Thank you all so much for your help, I was going to reply to each comment individually but now there are millions of them so I'll just do it on here!

( the geeky bit... )


My eagerly-anticipated foray into town today was a bit anticlimactic. I timed it badly so that I ended up getting in just as everyone from my old school was heading down on their lunch break, and when I spotted herds of carefully-rumpled dark suits I had a kind of Pavlovian panic attack. I've never seen another group quite like the Millfield sixth form 'cool kids', and they scare the hell out of me, especially the girls. They're the same every year and the current crop is two years younger than me, but that doesn't help. Blonde, model-thin, posh, perma-tanned from various ski/sun excursions, arms linked, laughing and flirting into tiny mobile phones or plugged into iPods, and always wafting that glamorous aroma of Chanel and Marlboro Lights behind them...I spent years in awe of them, knowing they were superficial trust-funded rehab stays waiting to happen but not being able to help it. And when I saw a few of them heading my way today, I stood my ground for a few minutes furiously thinking thoughts like 'I am almost 20, I can drink and smoke legally and stay up as late as I want without getting told off by a prefect, I am at university - Oxford! - I have car keys in my hand, I have friends and a boyfriend and a future and you can't touch me' until years of conditioning kicked in and I cringed away in a flobber of insecurity and hid in Boots until they all went away. Then I went home and miserably ate things.

This may or may not have had something to do with the other odd thing that happened today - on my own in the middle of the afternoon, I had a sudden and powerful urge to get drunk. This has never happened before and worried me slightly. But luckily I remembered I had to go and pick my mother up from work in a few hours, so I pulled myself together and cleaned the bathroom instead. I figure when I start wanting to drink at 10am I'll get worried.

I mentioned to my father when he came home that I was missing Oxford and he got really offended, so probably best not to labour that point. I will be going to see Steve next week then probably straight to Oxford (in preparation for Mega European Vacation of Joy with rhymeoverreason) on Wednesday or Thursday and at some point during this time, my sanity may return. Until then I'm going to sulk about the fact that I'm in Somerset. Grrr.

My course is cool and fun and I don't hate it!

*jumps up and down*

Sorry...it's just that everyone promised me I'd never want to do anything Classical ever again after Mods (one of my friends in the year above went completely mad and switched to Arabic for a couple of weeks after her exams until her sanity slowly grew back). But I have been trying to choose Greats options and there's so much stuff I want to do!

I think what's put me in such a work-mad mood is being away from Oxford, away from tutors and libraries that make me feel stupid, away from all my books and, for the first and possibly last time in my university career, not actually being expected to read anything. Which makes perfect sense, and means that as soon as I get back and actually have to start writing essays again, I'll throw in the towel. Of course.

In other news, today I have washed and vacuumed floors in a frenzy of domesticity, and made risotto in a frenzy of, well, hunger. Unfortunately my urge to create Sweet Baked Products in Vast Quantities was frustrated by the Oven Man's proclamation that it will take a week to fix, but never mind. Tomorrow I have the car and can therefore venture into one or both of the thriving metropoleis that are Street and Glastonbury. I may go to a second-hand bookshop and buy some trashy chicklit. Aaaaaah.

( Here are the options I'm mulling over, for them what care... )</lj-cut)

Well people, I seem to have gone for option 2).

It's not pornographic or anything but it's damn slutty for me. I may also attempt to acquire some handcuffs tomorrow, just for kicks.

See you all tomorrow...