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.]
Monday, 15 February 2010
Monday, 8 February 2010
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.
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.
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