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!

Coincidences...

Freaky, freaky things are afoot. Anyone who follows me on Facebook will know that I got a bit excited about Thomas Ruggles Pynchon the other day after he was mentioned to me. Because I've wanted to start to get back into online writing bits, this evening I started up a bio for a Head of Science chappy called Roland James Pynchon (because the name was too good to not use) which is fine and dandy.

Following this, however, I was rummaging through shuffle and got absolutely freaked out when THIS song came on:



The lyrics of which include:
'Poor professor Pynchon had only good intentions when he
Put all his bunsen burners away'

Serious business, and also freaky as I could have sworn I'd never heard the name before Don mentioned it in English the other day. Freaky Deaky!
(Incidentally, Andrew Bird is a winner, and you should listen to him. (Y))