summer could come again, i could be happy

Update on the monumentally fucked up situation: he didn't tell her last week. I felt like punching him in the face, and tried to shut everything down, but when I did I realised something: I never got over this man. I want to go back to 18 months ago and tell myself not to break up with him for such a fucking stupid reason. I'd forgotten how this feels. It's like there's no disconnect between me as a friend and me as a girlfriend: it's so good to feel respected for what's in my head. I really didn't know what a good thing I had until I lost it.

And yet I don't regret this. Over the last 18 months I've become so much closer to the person I want to be. Could I have done that if we'd been together. I don't know. I'm just so glad he wants me, whether it's the fucked-up, somewhat naive girl who he met on my 19th birthday, or the person I am now.

We've had one of many deep and meaningful conversations, the gist of which being that this is something and it's going to be something. Obviously I'm scared, because this is me, but I'm not going to run away. Yes, I'm committment-phobic and scared of being trapped, but I'm not going to get another chance here. If he can cope with me being scared, then I'm going to take the risk.

Of course this is the easy bit. Rebuilding all my bridges with her is going to be a bitch, and I wouldn't blame her for punching me in the face. She's so childlike and fragile at the moment: I don't want to break her. But she's told me several times drunkenly that she doesn't think they like each other: what the hell do I with that information? And it can't have been that solid if all it took was a bottle of vodka that left us sentient enough to care about contraception to get us into bed. I highly doubt I'm so amazing in the sack that I can make men forget about their girlfriends.

I just feel bad because we're such different people. She doesn't seem to know how not to be in a relationship, so she's clinging to this no matter what. If it were me, I'd dump the fucker the second I started to feel as lost as she seems to look.

Despite all this, I got 97% in my Odyssey test and two Firsts in my essays. So out of six essays this year, I've got five Firsts and I'm still waiting on the sixth. I could actually get six motherfucking Firsts this year. I so rock ^_^

We've also been picking modules for next year. I've got no choice about my dissertation and Greek Literary Texts, but that still left me with two options. I knew I'd be doing Tiberius to Hadrian because I've wanted to do that since A-Level, and if I'm not doing Tacitus for my dissertation I might as well turn all that knowledge to something useful. It also fulfils my Latin component as well. I did sign up for History of Medicine, but the lure of Politics and Poetics with Dorrells and Fearn was too strong, and I switched. Plus, I get to do it in Latin and Greek. I am literally so happy about that. Ignore the fact that the boything will be doing most of the Greek for me, I'm still happy about it.

There are so many things around me which signify contentment. Hole gig tonight, most of a bottle of tequila left, Latin and Greek dictionaries, being curled up under boyface's blanket, homemade curry...

I feel like a bitch, but I'm happy at the moment.

and i will dig my own grave...

4:48am:

He's telling her now. In the room down the corridor, they are talking about how he and I fucked when she went back home overnight. She almost caught us at it tonight: we had enough time for me to get my shirt on, and then he opened the door to see her, makeup running, asking about nothing. She looked like a tiny child. I think I've just broken someone.

What makes me so disappointed in myself is that nothing good can come of this. It's not like we can salvage anything from the wreckage here: it's going to annihilate this household, and there's no way we can start anything in the same house as her. We should have stopped ourselves, we should have tried to think beyond ourselves. But I know we wouldn't have stopped until we were caught anyway.

It was entirely free of recrimination the first time. Okay, we were drunk, but the morning after we woke up wanting to fuck. And that was sin, because we had no excuses anymore. And then all those nights I've waited up for him, so we could watch something together or fight or talk or do anything that gives us an excuse to get close to one another and breathe out desire. But there was never guilt until I thought about her.

On Thursday, she got drunk. Very drunk. She kissed me, she cried about her family life, she cried about the fact she doesn't think he likes her or she likes him, she cried about the fact she still thinks I hate her for going out with my ex. It was so painful: she was begging me not to hate her in the morning, and now I want to do the same thing. And after she told me all that, after she was asleep, I went downstairs and made out with her boyfriend.

I am such a rat it's not even true.

All I've done with this is scorch a lot of bridges. All I've done is kill my name and everything associated with it. I'm not going to pretend that she was my best friend, but she was a laugh, she and I went girly shopping and laughed together, we drank sloe gin and lemonade and ordered pizza a gazillion times together. And I didn't know, I swear to god, I didn't know that this was under the surface. I thought I'd killed my affection for him long ago, but somehow neither of us escaped. It was subliminated, not destroyed. And now it will have to be repressed again, because there's no way this can turn into anything. You can't create something new from ashes.

I never wanted to be this person.

not everyone here is that fucked up and cold

Okay, it's been a while. In words of one syllable or less: stress, work, house inspection, essays, gigs, Camden, essays, cleaning, stress, going out, exhaustion, work, stress, going home, tiredness, illness, barcrawl, tonsillitis, work, cleaning, work, illness, Athens, home, family, getting healthy, work, friends, relaxation, finally some zen.

Well, largely, anyway.

The best moments of the last month or so:

* Athens overall, but sliding down the Areopagus with Becky, drinking absinthe with Joe and playing Mafia with everyone rank pretty highly.

* The mini Mooky meet. I'd met Candy the week before, but it was incredible how we all coalesced: it was like meeting people for the first and for the umpteenth time. It was so weird, but amazing too. I want another one.

* Does It Offend You, Yeah? All right band, nothing special, but the gig was a lot of fun. It was a lot of emo kids, so it was very high energy and made me feel teenaged again. I did get headbutted in the ear by some drunk bitch, but apart from that we got out alive.

* Catching up with the Cambridge peeps again. I miss the Marias a lot when we're not together.

* Going out gay clubbing with Ruby. I'm not totally happy with how we left it, but hopefully we'll pick it up again in the summer.

* Drunken texts from Jenny and Joe. 'Nuff said.

Things I'm looking forward to:

* We're now talking about Mooky meets in Cambridge and Brighton, which is something to look forward too.

* Hole on May 9th. I can't wait for this. Seeing Courtney Love will help fill out my grunge quota for the year, which began with Alice in Chains in November.

* Maria needs to go to Paris in the summer for her dissertation, and so we're talking about going together. Looking forward to this is keeping me sane.

* My parents are going to help me with getting my hair colour stripped (if it's the best thing to do), so hopefully I'll be getting blue hair sometime soon.

Things I love right now:

* Mark Lanegan. The Gutter Twins are absolutely fantastic, and I'm on a real Screaming Trees kick as well, so he's kind of soundtracking my life at the moment.

* Alice in Chains. I don't know why, but it helps a lot with my Greek homework.

* Raspberry sambuca. Mixed with lemonade it is my new lifeline.

* Coffee. Writing this essay would be impossible without this amazing, life-giving substance.

* My Antigone essay. It's weird, but I love this so much, it's mad. It's just incredibly interesting as an essay, and it's one of those rare beasts that actually feels like it might have a cohesive whole at the end of it all. I'm really enjoying writing it all.

* My new boots. I got them in Camden during the Mooky meet, and they're making me very happy.

* The fact that I can even think of things that I like lets me know that things will turn out okay, after all.

shame, such a shame, think i kinda lost myself again

I hate the fact that I never have fucking time to do anything at the moment, and that all my time belongs to other people.

I don't want to get up tomorrow at 4:45am to catch a train home, but I don't have a choice if I want to have any time at home.

I don't really want to go out tonight, but I don't have a choice since it's Jenny's birthday and everyone will be at Kasbah, and my non-attendance will be commented on and I'll feel like a fucking failure if I stay in when I could have journeyed back to Cambridge.

I don't want to spend money, but I want to get drunk.

I don't want to make myself beautiful, as it would only feel like a mask at the moment and I'm sick of hiding behind masks and I want to be raw and ugly as a testament to loss.

I don't want to go out into the cold, because I feel like I'll never get warm again otherwise. But I don't want to stay in this room, because it's too small and too personal to contain all my self-loathing.

Basically, I want to stop sucking at things.

i feel right at home in this stunning monochrome, alone in my way

Well, at least this post isn't concerned with theology or my own lovely fucked-up psyche.

I've been trying my hardest to keep everything going lately, and it's all failing. Two essays, each worth 25% of their respective modules, both due in on the 24th. I should be writing frantically right now, I should know what I'm doing, but I don't. This is not through lack of trying, it's just exhaustion and the sinking feeling that this is not going to turn out at all well. I just can't face writing these essays. Period. I also need to work on all my translations: that's the Res Gestae, Apuleius and Euripides, because they're all due in at about the time of the essays and so they won't be done as the deadline approaches.

University is just a juggling act: the skill is keeping all of the balls in the air. I'm usually an excellent juggler, but right now a lot of stuff is going to end up on the floor.

I can't wait to go back to Cambridge in a few weeks. I want to go home and be fed and be taken care of and not have to panic about my appalling work life/sex life/weight issues. Yeah, I can't believe I wrote that either. It's just that my eating schedule's all over the place, and because I'm working until 3am a lot I get the munchies for bread and Marmite, or Special K, or whatever I've got at awful moments. I'm sure I'm gaining weight. Once I start eating though my body still believes it's hungry, and I have to work so hard not to eat something else. Then I hate myself for my weakness.

In addition, I went shopping with Jenny, and we swapped clothes a few times. The thing is, I'm about 10 inches taller than her, but she's usually takes a size up from me. She's not a big girl at all, but she has pretty prominent breasts, and so if we swap clothes or both try something on, I'm taking a size down from her. She's not trying to, but she's being a bit snide about it. She referred to me as 'offensively skinny' recently - dude, I'm a bit under 10 stone! That's not even close to offensive! I would love to be able to wear corsets and actually enjoy bra shopping instead of it being another fantastic round of 'and will this one fit...? No, of course not!' So yeah, I'm indulging in a bit of self-loathing at the moment. So sue me.

I also slept with Nick again, but that's not an issue. He wants another girl, and he made it abundantly clear that I am like no other girl he knows: I'm a friend in a way that he doesn't usually get from people he wants to sleep with. So this is cool: we're mates, and we're cool. That works for me. It makes me question his motivation, but that's not my problem. I've actually come to realise how little I care about the men in my life, which is not good. I don't think I've ever met a man whom I could elevate beyond the level of a friend whom I sleep with. [There is potentially an interesting exposition of my psyche here, but I'll re-evaluate my sexuality later when I'm less busy.]

Nick and I hooked up after George's party, which was fucking funny: someone invited along their 17-year old brother, who was a right little poser, but who made me laugh and clearly wanted me to *ahem* disappear somewhere with him. This led Nick into a right moment of jealousy (he then asked me if he could come back to mine, and told me that he didn't mind me going off with other men, 'like that Tom guy', which would of course make sense if he didn't throw a fit every time I do. Okay, let me assure everyone reading this that I am not quite as slutty as that phrasing implied, and that he simply goes a bit spare every time a guy flirts with me, because I have proved once or twice that I will go home with people if I feel like it. However, I'm not going to bed with a 17-year old I just met). The situation did resolve itself, as the 17-year old ended up throwing up about 4837248 units of alcohol in the kitchen bin and thus was somewhat unable to follow through on his promises. Like I said at the time: I'm sorry for him, but LOL.

Also, best quotes of the night: 'It's like sex, but walnuts', and 'I'm happy. I've got a bin.' CLASSIC.

I also want to buy too many clothes, having bought a great many books for my Origins essay so that I don't have to panic about not being able to get books because I maxed out my library account getting books for Augustus, and I have also bought a lot of booze recently. Money money...wherefore art thou? I also hate buying clothes when I'm paranoid about the fit. Like I said, I'm having body issues at the moment.

London (Camden!) on Thursday, Evolve with Kate and Soozi Thursday night, Koko's tomorrow with Ellie, possibly Crash on Friday, miss out Saturday, wake up Sunday with a hangover and then have a good panic about my two non-existent essays.

Yep, that sounds about right.

For now, I have Irish coffee with Sheep Dip whiskey (bought entirely for the humour of that name), Alice in Chains and leftover pizza. There have been worse evenings.

[That's me desperately trying to end on a note that doesn't contradict the first sentence of this post.]

hit so hard, i saw god

God I feel awful.

Joe and I were arguing, as per bloody usual, about laws and their place in the state. As is always our wont, we agreed on the main points and then had to spend an hour ironing out the kinks in a tiny point of ideology. We got down to the idea that if there's only one person left on earth, do the laws still apply to him. Joe maintains that they do, that law is inviolable (and he admitted that he's massively hypocritical, since he begs me to buy him weed every time he gets drunk), I stuck to my belief that it was utterly pointless.

Joe approaches all of this like the recovering Catholic that he is. Whether or not he's actually an atheist, he takes his ideals and makes them into his God. I commented on this, and he asked me what I actually believe about God.

I hate that question.

I laughed him off, acted all enigmatic, and that only increased his interest. He didn't even press me too much, just stayed silent and looked at me in that way that makes me remember everything that's passed between us. I love him, I hate him, he infuriates me and soothes me. He's my best friend and I want to be nothing like him.

So I told him. Because he's Joe, and he's good. And he told me that I was honest, which is probably the best quality to have. The second the words were out of my mouth I felt like crying, but that just sealed it. I feel like I've been hit.

I hate thinking about God. I don't care: you have to deal with the world as it is, and God is irrelevant. If personal faith brings you comfort, then that's a wonderful thing, a private flame. But I can't bear everyone knowing the secrets of my brain, I can't bear everything peeling me open, knowing what I think about these things.

I then cornered him and asked him not to tell anyone else. He asked me how I was feeling, and I said exposed. He really didn't get it: he reiterated that no-one has the right to make me tell them things or take my belief away from me. He's such an idealist, and he's so skilled at missing the point. I know he doesn't understand, but there are certain cards that are always stapled to my chest, and I just ripped a card off. The staple is still there, and it's started bleeding again.

If there's one person I could have told, it would have been Joe. Now though, I just feel like my brain is broken. It's massive misdirection: I don't want God factoring into the way people view me. It has no bearing on me, my decisions, my political beliefs.

I can't bear feeling so open.

This is why I need to be an enigma. Because I can't bear the thought of being so totally exposed, because the second you say something it will be taken and cherished as a memory, as a judgement by others. The plethora of ideas within my head would become a sullied diaspora if released.

I have to keep myself locked up. I can hint, as in this blog, I can write things out to make them better, but I can never give it all away. And knowing this, that I can never share myself fully with another human being, is the most lonely and desolate thought I can formulate.

we kill what we build because we own the sky

Why is this blog turning into ma vie sexuelle? I've had a few complicated romantic fuckups in my life, but this month has been mad. Ruby, Nick, Matt, John...all people I've either done far more with than I actually wanted to, or good sense suggested would be wise, or when I actually wanted something to happen, it all went dead.

Well, I liked Alice from the moment I met her, and we were kind of compatible tastes-wise anyway, then we got pretty damn drunk and kissed. Quite a lot. She has a boyfriend, but she spoke about him like she was just waiting for the right moment to break up. We left it like that, but we were both pretty wrecked anyway, so it may be nothing. But she's living with Ellie and Kate next year, so I'd like us to be cool anyway. And at least there's one massive difference in this instance: I am very sure that she started it. Not complaining, but it's just nice to be sure.

Oh well. Even if nothing happens, it made for a fun night out. And I do like her a lot, so we'll see where it goes.

Back to everything else: John texted Jenny a few nights ago asking if the girlfriend thing was just an excuse. Head. Bang. He's backed off now, but if he brings it up again I'll hit him. It's putting both of us in a real spot with Jenny, as she's having to be the intermediary. Fingers crossed he's getting the message now: dude, it's been a week! Let it go. I told Mum a little about it all, and I think she's a bit concerned that I'm out of control.

I got my essay back from Matt: 72. Not bad, it means I've got all Firsts last term and I'm averaging about an 80 overall, and factored in with last year that's like a 78, but I'm a bit meh about it. Largely because his main issue was with my style, which both Fearn and Monica praised, and he kept talking about my 'potential'. I thought I'd cracked all this: I didn't realise I was back to being a 'potentially' good student. I'm also in a bind because he prefers you to work with a thesis, like you're trying to prove a point of view. I prefer presenting the debate on an issue, and then having balanced the evidence, explaining why I favour one side. It then looks less like you're twisting the evidence to your POV. But do I change my style, the style that Fearn and Monica both approve of, for this? Like I said, it's a bind.

Ancient Greek is a bitch. I have about 20 verbs to learn, with their principle parts. Greek principle parts are first person present, future, aorist, perfect, perfect middle/passive, aorist passive. You can understand why that's such a pain in the hole. Clive also hates us, and me in particular, but considering that he's a moron, that's kind of a compliment.

However, I am going to Athens in March now. Fun fun. Jenny, Paul, Joe and I are going with Classics peeps, which should be a right laugh. I'm looking forward to it already. It's not like I have a heavy load at the end of term either: all my essays are due in week 7. (Crap, that's like a month from now. Bollocks.)

This is what's known as epic procrastination. I'm taking notes from a book due back on Thursday, and I have so much work to do between now and then that I really need to get it done tonight. However, thanks to everything else getting in the way, I've actually done a little over two pages, and it's a ten-page article. Last night, taking notes from a twenty-pages article took 7 1/2 hours. I didn't sleep until 4am. I need a life. Seriously. To procrastinate, I've learnt about five new tabs, smoked, IM'd Kate, Facebooked Annis and am now blogging. And now, having reread this post, I'm fantasising about good looking girls.

FAIL.

i bet you don't know how to spell contradiction

I'm a wee bit disgusted with myself. I knew that John liked me, and I let it go way further than I should have done. Okay, I didn't let it go all the way, but more than that, I did imply that I was available. Now if he'd been willing to leave it as a one-night thing, or a fuckup between friends, I could have coped. But the fucker wouldn't leave my house, so I was hiding in my own room, and he was treating me like a girlfriend. Not cool.

So I lied and told him that I had a girlfriend back home, and that I was trying not to fuck that up.

Why am I, who values directness so much, so appalling at being direct?

This is why I shouldn't get into bed with people I actually DON'T want to hurt. And I didn't want to be cruel. That doesn't exonerate me, but I did actually pick this as the least cruel of my options. And yes, the most cowardly, but still.

I've reached my limit. I've behaved really appallingly recently, and I'm not proud of myself. I'm doing things and wondering why later. Essentially, I'm doing things because I can, and that's not a good thing.

Ellie and I were talking about this last night: we both feel like we do things of questionable worth, partly out of alcohol, partly out of low self-esteem. I'm still self-conscious enough to find it alluring when someone thinks I'm beautiful, and it clouds my judgement. Plus, I know now that the morning after I'll remember why I don't want them in my life, why I prefer being alone, but I'm naive enough to hope that I will meet someone who gets that, who doesn't make me feel pressured. But until I do, I'd be a terrible girlfriend for anyone: they need someone who responds to those things, for whom girlfriend is not a death sentence.

Okay, I'm officially detoxing. Less alcohol, less flirting, more work, more honesty. I'm going to try and be a better person, the type of person I would like to be. And if I have to be a whore, the least I can be is an honest whore.

Right. Now, to try and live better.

i've only got a minute before i have to go, a minute is all my life will ever allow

I'd forgotten that truly charming fact about university: you don't have time for anything. If you work, you have to really push yourself to make time to socialise. If you do that, then you have to push yourself to keep up with all the other little things in life, like speaking to old friends, housework, Facebook, etc. Which means that this blog reguarly goes to the bottom of my to-do list. Ho hum.

Looking at my last posts, they're all pretty Nick-centric. Well, we're doing all right. We're friendlier now, and we're doing okay out of it. Still a little awkward, but we're coping. I told Kate about Jenny's mate who came over and ended up getting a little gropey (not in a bad way, but just kinda letting me know he was interested), and she referenced it in front of Nick. That made things weird for a while, but if he thinks I'm going off the market, it might spur him into laying his cards on the table. Although it's monumentally hypocritical of me to expect him to do that, since I never would. In many ways, I think we're both too protective of our own interests to get together properly, since that requires a degree of vulnerability that neither of us wants to surrender.

Oh well. But the point is that's not taking up too much of my time at the moment.



It's been a crazy busy week. Loads of Latin to translate, having to drag myself to Greek with the utter fuckwit (he thought we wouldn't know the word 'prey' because it's old-fashioned. Dude, we're Classicists. We deal in old-fashioned. Although I did get 97% in my test, so I can't complain, really), going out for a Chinese with Classics mates, movie with the guys, Evolve last night with the girls, seeing Annie at the Duck tonight, 'Bows tomorrow...how the hell do I still have money? Although I probably should lay off the booze: last night ended with me making out with a stranger in a taxi whilst three other people got to watch. Fuckin' hell. I need some self-control. I can't even remember what he looked like - that's bad. At least it didn't go anywhere worse, otherwise I'd be slitting my wrists right now.

Went to London for Dad's birthday, and was able to spend several hours in Camden. I bought a couple of new shirts, and then came home and ordered an Alice in Chains shirt. Whoops. But seriously, what else was my student loan going to go on? I have enough booze to sink a ship at the moment.



I'm currently work-obsessed, as I always am at university, but I'm managing to read. Admittedly only Margaret Atwood, and I've read it a lot before, but last year I could barely read a book without feeling like I should be doing something Classical. However, I did find out that my Greek Tragedy essay that was, in my own mind, a clusterfuck, got an 89. That's like, publishable. WIN. And my Origins of the Modern Novel essay got an 81, as well as the discovery that Monica and I went to the same sixth form. Um...win? However, now some of my flatmates won't talk to me about their essays, because I'm such a high-achieving bitch. I should also insert the adjective'unapologetic' into that sentence. It's ridiculous though: they've got an essay in week 4 which they're not working for, and I'm killing myself translating Suetonius and Apuleius, reading ancient Greek novels and starting to research Horace for my week 7 essay.

I have a new obsession musically: Chew Lips. Like Crystal Castles meets the Sohodolls. Rather like it, and the lead singer is FINE. Seriously. Other than that, I've been rocking the old-school Alice in Chains and Ani DiFranco, with a side order of Mark Lanegan. I'm feeling 90s and I like it.

can't believe the lure was enough

Looking at my post yesterday, I was kinda losing it. When I ramble that much, you can tell that something's wrong. It almost reads like an incident report: just the facts ma'am, only in my case there was a fair bit of freaking out too.

Amazingly, Ashley hadn't heard a thing, and Jenny and Paul only moved in yesterday afternoon. Both are exactly the same, and it was nice having other things to focus on. Paul, Ash and I spent ages just sitting in Ashley's room chatting and finding funny quotations in quote books. It was so lovely and relaxed it helped me chill out.

However, we went to the Duck with Kate, and when we were at the bar I told her. Not everything, but enough. Her reaction was just as I expected: surprised, but not overtly judgemental. However, she asked a question which as been haunting me: 'Why? I thought you didn't like him like that.' And now I feel like a right ratbag, because she's depressingly right: I have never thought of Nick in a sexual way. We've always been friends, and okay, we've made out once or twice, but sex was never on the cards. So why the hell did Friday night happen?

My conclusions are not flattering: I was drunk, he was drunk, I wasn't expecting things to go as far as they did. However, there's something deeper. I am appalling at saying no to people, especially in this sort of context. I'm still insecure enough about my attractiveness, especially to men (I'm used to being the friend who's perfect for you but you'll never get with) that I'll let things happen to stroke my ego. Which is so despicable that I'd hit anyone who used it as an excuse.

However, the flipside is that I'm also still kind of unsure about my attraction to men. It always seems to work out best in an abstract sense: I can't tell if that's latent lesbianism (hardly sodding latent, but anyway) or just life biting me in the arse. Whenever I'm with someone, I feel like I am just a mirror for their desire, rather than possessing it in my own right. Often during sex (either gender) all I want is to be a vessel for someone else, the way in which someone else will feel good rather than wanting it for myself. I don't know if that's a hangover from Sam or not, but it makes it even harder to say no.

And yet, there's a little bit of me that isn't surprised, or even remorseful. I think Nick and I were always going to do something (this, okay, was further than I expected to go), and maybe now we actually have a shot at being friends for a long time. Fingers crossed we're both the sort of people that can do something like this and then put it behind us. I don't want a relationship, and I know that Nick and I are not compatible in that respect, but if this remains as casual as I think we both kind of implied we wanted it to be, this could work out pretty nicely.

However (how many flipsides does this have?) Nick has been very enigmatic with me before. He's not stupid: he says what's appropriate for the situation. When we were figuring out the whole me-shagging-Tom thing, it was all 'nope, not interested'. On Friday night, it was all 'I've wanted this for ages'. I would hate to think that he wants something more than I'm prepared to give, and he's really misunderstood the type of person I am.

Oh Christ, I was feeling okay about this earlier, now I really don't. All I can pray is that we'll see each other, it'll be relaxed and normal, and everything will move on. Until then, everything's on ice, and I refuse to get caught up into anything I can't commit to. I would much rather let a potential relationship go than lose a friend because I rushed into something I wasn't ready for.

I can't stop listening to the Silversun Pickups' Catch and Release. It's way too perfect for this whole situation. Now every time I hear it I feel a little guilty.

I hate the fact I can't trust my own decisions.

no-one plans to take the path that brings you lower

Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

I slept with Nick last night.

Headdesk, epic fail, facepalm, die.



Okay, backtrack:

I did make it up to Coventry on Thursday night, as my parents acted with unseemly haste to get rid of me. Kinda. They had a point: the snow wasn't going away, and was predicted to just get worse. If I didn't go up then, it was a bit now or never. So I did, and I'm currently in Coventry. The first night was kind of awful - I realised how homesick I was pretty early on, and it didn't help that the house was really cold. So I curled up with Margaret Atwood and The Wire, turned the heating on, and ate chilli chocolate in bed. Louche. Very.

On Friday I felt a lot better, and Ashley came up in the afternoon, which was really nice. I forget how well I get along with Ashley half the time, because when he's stressed about having no money and not doing any work and he's a bit drunk (which is most of the time when Joe's here) he's far less nice to know. I can't stand his passive-aggressiveness when he's in that kind of mood, but as we hadn't spoken in weeks and it's hard to be stressed when term hasn't even begun, it was actually quite cool.

The less cool thing about the day was that the workmen at the end of the road cut our power (apparently accidently) for a couple of hours, which was very dull, but not too bad. It does top off the general assertion that since we've been away, EVERYTHING has gone wrong with the house. Our drains froze, and we had to pour boiling water on them and pray that they didn't refreeze immediately; our always slow-to-react kitchen lightswitch actually snapped off, and so we could have been electrocuted any time in the last four months, our heating timer's gone off the wall and resetting it in the dark isn't fun...

So in short, most of my days recently have been settling back into the house, running around fixing shit and catching up with Ashley. All cool. Last night however, Nick left a message on Facebook asking if anyone was up for drinking, so Ash and I went to meet him at the Duck (with a brief detour to go frolic in the snow on Hearsall Common. We found a snow-altar and danced around worshipping it. I know, Classicists are geeks). We had a few drinks there, started quoting Black Books at each other and realised that Nick had never seen Spaced, so we invited him back to ours to watch it. We went to Tescos, got some booze, came back to ours, curled up in the lounge with Spaced and vodka, and got faintly hammered.

So far, so good. We're all happy drunk and talking bollocks, the world and his wife is drunk-texting/calling us and it's all fun. I'm amazed Jenny could see the keypad, and I suspect she couldn't (she asked twice if 'askew' was there), but it was hysterical.

Then Ashley went to bed, and Nick and I were curled up on a sofa together, very very close.

Just to clarify, last time Nick came over to ours, it was after George's party about two months ago: he brought tequila, we stayed up all night talking, then we kissed. A lot. We stopped ourselves thankfully, but it was a close call. We also didn't talk about it until the night I went home with Tom, when Nick suddenly remembered and wanted to discuss it. I wasn't so turned on by that idea: it's not like another bloke had his hand on my thigh or anything, it's not like I didn't have other things on my mind. Mainly contraception-related, but still, I wasn't happy. I even said to Ellie that if Nick had made a move, I wouldn't have gone home with him, because there'd be strings and Tom was offering me something far more immediate and far less complicated. When we'd had about seven tequilas at the Christmas Symposium, Nick and I did discuss our non-relationship, but the gist was 'Claire, you're hot and awesome, but nothing's happening'. Which was good. It worked for me. So to be honest, I thought I had it all figured out.

Then I'm on top of him kissing him, and my little house of cards comes crashing down.

I can't remember deciding anything at any point, I just knew at some moment that it was going to happen. Then we went upstairs to my room, and things got complicated. (Sidenote: excellent euphemism, because it's not really.)

Much later, he made me promise that things wouldn't get weird with us later. Excellent, that's what I want too. However, he also said that I should call him any time I wanted more of the same. Fuck, have I acquired a fuckbuddy? Hell. It's a bit of a bind: if I texted Nick saying 'fuck me', he'd mock my lack of subtlety, so now every time we go out together (which isn't as often as some other mates) we'll be wondering if something will happen. On the other hand, if I don't, it's like saying 'cheers dude, but never again'. This window will close soon unless I act on it. Unfortunately, I don't know what I want, apart from to wake up clothed and non-sticky. I kind of refuse to be yet another notch on someone's bedpost. However, if that's what I want, I really, really, really go about things in the wrong way (ie. having a lot of spontaneous, one-night-stand-ish sex).

Three things about this strike me as ironic. Firstly, one of my resolutions in a post on Mookychick was to treat my guy friends better. I was thinking of Nick: I had the horrific feeling I was leading him on, so I was going to behave better. Cross that one off the list. Secondly, Joe drunk-texted me when I said that Nick was there and we were watching Spaced, saying 'don't do anything I wouldn't do'. Now, bearing in mind that Joe's a whore, that's pretty ironic. Thirdly, this is like the New Year's Eve of Year Two Term Two, so if I spent this NYE getting laid, this could bode well...

...or really really badly. Which to be honest, is what I'm fearing right about now.

I have stubble rash over a lot of my face. It's driving me ballistic.

Fuck. I need to stop being such a fucking whore.

before it gets so cold that the rain turns to snow

The snow is such a pain: I might now be able to get a lift up to Coventry for a couple of days thanks to the traffic disruption. I should be grateful for more time at home (I know Mum's glad I could be around for a bit longer) but to be honest, I'm looking forward to going back. I like taking care of myself and being independent, and I like having a structured timetable. Yeah, I know, quite sad. But hey, what can I do? I'm a geek. Deal with it.

Speaking of geekdom, I'm struggling with Suetonius at the moment. It's really not all that interesting to translate. Suetonius might be one of the first writers who CAN'T STAY ON THE FUCKING POINT. Still, I'm actually remembering why I like translation: I'm good at it. When I get this sort of stuff right, I actually believe that I might have a future in this subject. However, when I get my essays back in a week or two, that will all change. Expect crying and slitting of wrists.

However, backtracking somewhat, the snow is kind of beautiful. I got some pictures during the snowfall in the graveyard of St Edwards in Cambridge. You can't really complain when it all looks this good. Even if I was wearing Converse because I had not been paying attention to the weather forecast and ended up having two of my toes going numb. Well, that's my own fault.

Tomorrow, I desperately need to dye my hair and pack. Even if I might not be heading back for a few days, I need to find out where everything's disappeared to. I'm pretty sure there are now eyeliner pencils under my bed. Yeah, this could take a while.

I saw Maria on Monday night, when we hung out and played with her dogs, and today, when we went into Cambridge. Both times we spent about five hours talking. I miss her so much when we're at university: she's one of the few people I can go from talking about mutual friends to university degrees to feminism back to taking over the world and why fish should be called Humperdink and why Gordon Brown looks like a talking potato. Yeah, I miss her a lot. Especially when her dogs are that cute.


In short, I've enjoyed Cambridge. It's been lovely. But I may have to scream now if I don't get back to Coventry in the near future.

new year's resolutions

Okay, a few days late, but here they are:

1. Work. Work my arse off. Second year's really hard for us, because we're suddenly with the third years who are more experienced, and we're only just discovering what we're good at. First year was about passing, now it's about excelling. For my Latin modules, I want to get to know everything about the text: translation, vocab, style, structure etc. For my non-language modules, I want to get to know my texts, the context, the history inside out. For my Greek, I just want to learn something, pass and not kill Clive.

2. Have fun. Get out of the house: my housemates are great, but we do have a tendancy to stay in all the time. Get out, hang out with other people, seize opportunities as much as possible.

3. Get better on bass: make a list of songs to learn and practice until you've got them. Don't just arse about soloing, but do some more technical things as well. Ditto piano, but with additional composition/transcribing.

4. Save money: try to save at least £200 this term. I really don't need to explain this one.

5. Make an effort with clothes and makeup. I have a tendency to be lazy, especially when I wake up at 8am to catch an 8:15 bus. I can be pretty when I try (really...)

6. Continue losing weight. I don't know how I'm doing it, but I am, so I want to continue. However, I'm currently a size 8-10, so much more and I'll start to struggle finding sizes. In other words, meiden agon (everything in moderation).

7. Go to more gigs. I don't have anything lined up at the moment, which bugs the hell out of me.

8. Similarly, expand my music taste. After rebuilding my machine I'm being a lot more selective about what ends up on my iTunes, which is good as it forces me to think about music rather than having it be a background thing.

9. Keep this sodding blog. I will probably abandon it soon, but it's good for me to write out some of my issues. It focuses my annoyance rather than letting it permeate into every other area of my life. Plus, it's amazing for procrastination.