Things I have learned about humanity.

Humanity makes my head hurt.

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.

That is all.

Stressed.

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.

ARGH.

Meh, life.

Christmas was alright if you exclude most of the company, and include the rather high alcohol intake. I am slowly becoming a royal alcoholic at such occasions, not sure whether to be worried or not. Have also caught some dodgy bugs from the masses of small children that were there - coughing and sniffling and feeling rather nauseas the past day or two.

After a let-down of a venison pie at Christmas Mark II yesterday, got some good books - including Year of The King by Antony Sher which I'm already about half way through, and will probably discuss in another blog some time.

Quiet morning this morning, both parents out and aforementioned Sher book in lap. Just building up a desire to write something (I really, really do need SOME productivity...) when Madre comes in and asks me to go to Tesco with her. As Padre asked me too, earlier, had to go.

It has come to the point, I think, where just seeing her face makes me instantly depressed. I find myself not bothering any more than absolutely necessary to talk to her, because it makes me want to headbutt a wall.

Results of trip to Tesco - no real desire to do either portfolio OR coursework, but there's only 6 days of holiday left, and I can't go back having done fuck all.

To curl up in bed and die, or to not curl up in bed and die, that is the question.

Probably going to give over rest of day to moping and reading the rest of YotK.

Drowning in Paper (The Maws of Doom)

Half term, though good as far as doing exciting things and resting goes, has left me in a bit of a pickle.

I have a 3 A1 board deadline in three days, which I have almost absolutely no work for, I have coursework preparation coming out of my ears, am in the middle of reading three books which I would like to get through before my birthday when a new year's reading-list starts and, of course, my creative writing portfolio, which is an extract of 25PP.

Aforementioned portfolio is turning into a project worthy of a capital letter. It is supposed to be a sixteen page Portfolio of creative writing, with a two page commentary, and it is meant to be not shit.

Presently, my Portfolio is THIRTY-TWO pages long, lacks any form of commentary, and is very, very rough. It needs the largest amount of slicing and chopping and rearranging known to man. These pages are size 10 font.

Typically, the time when I really ought to be focusing on art deadlines, I haven't a painting bone in my body and just want to hack away at the giant redwood that is my Portfolio. So, I am sitting on my bed with a page full of 'TO-DO' list, absurd, loose pages of continuous prose and a cup of cold tea.

Let the carnage begin - I'll see you on the other side, providing I don't die in a bloodied mass of paper cuts and misfired staples, or have my pen run out half-way. xxx