Hello blog, sorry you have been so sorely neglected. Things have been going on which I may or may not outline at some point. Until then, I'm afraid I have come down the The Scots Flu from my trip to Edinburgh. I am lain up in bed and incapable of doing very much. So, naturally, I wrote a poem about my plight. (I was wondering what people who were sick did before Tumblr, and decided this must be why Ye Olden Days poetry is so prolific.)
Hello blogosphere! I've not even thought about blogging for ages, but now exams are over and done with, I have plenty of time to ramble at the world at large about my going's on. As such, I present the first in (probably a worryingly long) series of blogs dedicated to things I waste my holiday time on.
Today (and the inspiration for this series) I have spent an inordinately long time performing open surgery on my laptop. This means dismantling it, fiddling about with the motherboard, poking things and attempting to burrow my way towards the fan which is so clogged up with dust and grime and whatnot that it keep making the computer blackout and reboot when I am trying to waste my time in less educational pastimes like killing undead beasts on guildwars.
In the past hour I have learned why magnetic screwdrivers are the tools of the gods, that fighting a chainsaw and fending off a BBQ doesn't necessarily lead to exciting discoveries and also why I should never be let alone in a house where such things are within arm's reach.
The problem now is that I feel like a legitimate computer technician and wish to become one of those people, who pimps their laptop and upgrades their harddrive and gaming chips. Somebody help me?
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
Went to the doctors. Now on drugs that I have distressingly discovered are one part of the cocktail my mother has to have every day. Hopefully they will do something to help sort me out. I feel a bit sick. Spent most of the appointment marvelling what a lovely, intelligent sounding person my doctor is. He got into the profession that suits him perfectly. It takes a very avuncular chap to explain suicidal side-effects in an acceptable way. Bluntness is not in his vocabulary.
Exams in two weeks and judging by my vague attempts at revision philosophy and ethics is going to be a royal, royal disaster. I have no interest in it any more. Not religious language, at least. Need to build up some motivation to do revision and not writing, but reviewing things I already vaguely know is exceptionally dull, when I could be producing and thinking about new things.
Big, long, illuminating conversation at the pub the other night. Very odd.
Not sure where I stand on very much. Trying my best to avoid caring. Tschuss!
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Never put two depressed people alone into a house.
I had a dream that was something along the lines of Wuthering Heights with pirates. There was also a bad-mouthing lobster, a child hiding under a shelf in a grocery shop to avoid being eaten and a badly behaved donkey.
1. Money is the root of everything, evil or otherwise.
2. Apathy is rife in society; people prefer not to think or do anything.
3. Humanity is happy to shout things they don't understand, so long as they can do it loudly, in a group, or to music (or, indeed. all three).
4. The value of aspiration is entirely subject to luck.
5. Older only means wiser in terms of awareness (or, in some cases, acceptance and self-deception).
Most of these are heavily influenced by historical and societal progression, though I doubt things have ever been all too different.
Needless to say, I am not entirely chuffed with the world today. Not least because people in Canada have cured cancer, but because it's not profitable nobody cares. Or because God being everlasting does not imply that time has an end. Or because people can get away with lying plainly to people's faces, manipulating them with every word. Or because time is short and nobody cares. Or because sponteneity is dead.
He's amazing. Don't try to deny it because if you do you will be betraying the virtue of Honesty and Aristotle will not be a happy bunny. Just look at him. Then look at his acting skills. Then look at his dapper outfits. Christoph Waltz. Learn the name and weep because you're not sufficiently badass to be him.
Also, RPattz shitting himself when a lion tried to eat him; and also looking ridiculously drunk most of the time. JS.
Beautiful plot, too, but then book adaptations tend to have that going for them more than general films.
Not seen it yet? GO.
Also Ellie needs a mention for nearly destroying her Dad's car with her masterful parking skills, and also for taking me on a lovely picnic in an industrial park. We spotted the wild Sainsbury's trucks breaking free, spreading their wings and leaving the depot. We also entertained the people in the McDonald's drive through with some poker-straight parking. It was beautiful. :)
I am stressed.
Why are you stressed, Rachel? You might very validly ask.
I am stressed because a) I've had three weeks of holidays and then within two days of being back seem to have run myself into the ground, although I ought to be able to deal.
b) I feel like a fail, because I am a disorganised leader in a disorganised cub group, who don't tell me where they need me to be except in vague notes, and who aren't there when I turn up (late, although I arrived the first time this evening at the hall early... but had to rearrange my plans).
c) Every time I think I have a handle on something, some serious shit goes down.
d) At which point my father takes it upon himself to point out how shit I am at organisation, how I should be working and how I don't really have any right to not be able to deal.
e) I haven't got the balls (or the physical stamina and motivation) to walk over to the town hall and have a face-to-face discussion with Mike about wanting to drop scouts and just do cubs, even though I know doing both is too much for me, and I am knackered. I am going to take the cowards way out and write him an upstanding formal British e-mail relaying my reasons.
f) I wish hibernation was a human deal, and not just for chubby animals.
e) My bedroom is a festering pile of shit. As is every piece of technology I own. I cannot afford anything new at all.
I know a lot of people don't (which I personally think is ridiculous) like the Royal family at all, but I love them. I'm the sort of person who feels the need to stand to attention when the National Anthem comes on and knows more than just the first verse. They're an important part of what little culture we still have in this country, so I make no apologies for being pretty traditional about this.
However, a key thought (beyond enjoying the service generally, actually) was this:
I love days like this though, generally. :3 It's pretty rare that anything genuinely happy and nice goes on, so let's make the most of it.
It is not working.
I have tried, I have failed, and now my head is little more than a sieve with holes just big enough for anything useful to slip through into the land of the infuriatingly forgotten.
Philosophy and Ethics is impossible. There are too many names. There are too many topics. There is too little clarity and distinction between them.
I have tried explaining aloud, reading, making charts, making posters, typing things up, typing things at Alison in MSN, but none of it is going through.
Anyone have any ideas how to make names and ideas stick coherently, or do I need to get down to B&Q for some superglue?
[Russian Accents]
Me: Is NOKIA?
Dee: Look somewhere else then?
Me: NO, IS NOKIA?
Dee: It's not here?
Me: NOKIA. [waves nokia charger]
Dee: IS HERE!
[dissolve into lolz]
One of the benefits of living in a 17th Century cottage is the surprises that come with the territory. Whether that be falling through the ceiling, realising that though your walls are 3 feet thick, they aren't insulated or, today, something altogether more Enid Blyton-worthy.
We've had a new boiler put in and in the process discovered a NEW ROOM! Or rather, a new area of the house which is like something from a Famous Five novel. What we assumed was only an airing cupboard is actually large enough to be a walk-in wardrobe and has an extra level built into it as though it was part of a tree-house. Hopefully we're going to get a proper floor put into it at some point, as its potential as a cubbyhole/den is exceptional!
This week has been absurd. In a bad way. The bad sort of absurd which makes you want to ram your face into a wall untill it bleeds.
First off, I was pretty darned ill. By this I mean I was forced to take more than one day out of sixth form because I could not think straight or breathe. The middle day was spent trying to navigate my drugged up and unsightly way around Birmingham city and university alone, getting quite flustered but being too proud to show it. Things I saw on that little adventure:
Razor points in the train toilets. Bloody ridiculous: anyone attempting some facial topiary on a train is asking for trouble and is lucky to leave with their nose still attached.
A full grown man reading Eclipse ashamedly on the train. He was not remotely young. He was on Eclipse which sickeningly means he'd endured the first two books (and probably in an equally public manner) - shocking.
Smiling at dashing sandwich dispensory staff gets you a sandwich - at standard price.
Nobody at Birmingham knows where the English department is; apart from myself, and I found it as a fluke.
The morning was (as I attempted to text my dad) 'a hotbed of disaster', until I orientated myself, was given a cup of tea for free, and drowned my sorrows with a bit of shopping (new coloured pencils - score!)
The afternoon was lovely however, with a spicy-spicy mexican burrito and an outline of a gorgeous and enticing looking course. Also having somehow found time to chat to the Head of Admissions and encouraged him to reconsider the A-Level I already have, which he'd overlooked. Score Two!
Came home and went straight from the station to another station: the Fire Station. Learned about weapons of torture hitherto undescribable. Anything that fires iron filings and water so fast they can cut through a man is something to be avoided I say. Came home, crashed out, wept a little, dragged myself into the next day.
Was ill until I decided I couldn't afford to miss today so went into school to find myself faced with a number of prospects:
Interview at Warwick which I still have yet to have any real feelings either dreadful or delighted about. Later discovered today was the deadline for the coursework and faced the pressure by churning out a commentary in two hours, sending Mr Anderson a mildly freaked out e-mail entitled 'PAINFULLY URGENT' and posting the bloody thing.
Art that is 'unmarkable' because frankly there's not enough of it.
The need to summon up some form of title and inspiration for History Coursework.
Chasing the world about changing the date of my exams because of aforementioned interview which, for some reason involved talking to no less than 5 people about it.
Nobody seeming to know anything about an essay we were most definitely set.
Latin certificate - yay!
This evening was a delerious haze of writing frantically, arranging, posting and drinking a nice amount of wine. Decisory factor here: wine makes my life. ALSO, acquired Radiohead's new album and was grateful to be able to zone out to it after sending off the portfolio from hell. Every cloud, eh?
As to the situation now, I am sitting slightly drunk in full-body bunnyrabbit pajamas, lazing about and listening to Radiohead. Awesome.
I find Valentine's day eminently amusing. Not only is it a commercial reason for people to avoid romance the rest of the year round (because how else would such a day remain special?) but it also allows me to amuse myself with various Scrooge-esque activities. An example of this is sitting listening to music very loudly and being entertained by the number of songs which fit today perfectly. For example, Eros' Entropic Tundra by Of Montreal which I have just spammed my dash with. :)
It also gives me something to complain about - being British this is an essential ingredient of my life blood, along with tea, rubbish public transport and emotional repression etc - which is excellent. For example, the fact my padre marched into my room this morning with brazen cheerfulness and announced "I am taking your mother out for a curry later. Have fun on your own." or that, as I was given 3 roses by my chum Esther, a girl gasping at the sight of them and going "She's got three roses!" as though the extra pound spent on three instead of one meant I was quietly cheating the system.
I love what a big deal people make of today, but for all the wrong reasons. I have never been a romantic person, and so taking a holiday like this ironically is probably more fun than any other approach I could take. This view culminated in a Soppy Romantic Tale of Sop which I wrote for Ellie. It was one of those stories which is so sticky and sickly that you might wish to vomit just looking at the title (soppy is not repeated for no reason!) and told the tale of how Ellie got together with Mr Collins from Pride & Prejudice as they wept over Lady Catherine's jugs. There were rose petals, hair touching, tears, gasping and lots of pretentious imagery. Or at least, there was until it was cut off in its prime by the end of lesson bell. Gutting.
So with that, I shall leave you and return to my soon-to-be-free house, where I shall be happily tucking into chocolate, television and a romantic dinner for one, cooked by my own fair hand.
To approach the end of this blog in the style of my friend Anna: what are your views on this corruption of the martyrdom of a Christian chap? How have you spent your day? Tell, tell!
And I shall leave you with some nice, fitting tunes for you to enjoy ironically. :)
has been quite honestly one of the most hilarious of my life thus-far. Death by choking on laughter nearly occurred. That is how amused I was. I am giggling at the mere memory of it. Anna came over for a delayed Pub Therapy Sans Pub, and we had a great time being silly. Here are some quotes to illustrate:
"Milo is the son of Gelamen's sex-mayor."
*
"I am in shock, look I have a boner - I MEAN BLANKET."
* "Ezra's voice gives me weird hand cramp..."
*
"Saving your Boo."
"If I was ghetto, I would say get off my woman."
"But we're not ghetto, we're fucking ETON."
*
"WHY WON'T IT LOAD?"
"OHHHH GOOOOOOD, I'M AAAAAAAAAAGING."
*
"Roland! You bastard! Stop putting your cock in that socket, my friend. You are in some serious trouble."
