(no subject)
Well that was one hell of an anti climax. Four essays, two presentations, a winter ball, a shirked staff party and three Christmas dinners later comes the end of the semester. And once again I am back in the ghetto of south London. In good old Crystal Palace, again. Woe is me. BUT, on the plus side, we do have our own ice rink. But I'm not sure its much to compete with the natural history museum. Still, its better than hippy eco warriors and carnies I suppose.
The last few weeks have been, to put it bluntly, a bit rubbish. The ball was a bit of a disaster at the end, Leigh and I have managed our fist tentative steps into the domain of couple’s arguments, I have hated my friends and I have rather disliked myself to boot. Plus the mountains of reading, the week long pre Christmas diet of a migraine and the kidney infection. I just feel a bit… washed out now. I’m levelling out as pretty much the emotional equivalent of 9/11, which is a bit of a shame in my opinion cause no-one should go mad at Christmas. Everyone should just sit around and eat mince pies, and watch movies that the ok but not good enough for you or anyone you know to own, and argue with your family and not think too much. Well, I managed the arguing with the family about ten minutes after arriving home, I have enjoyed my fair share of mince pies at Toms belated birthday and I have already watched ‘watership down’. But alas, I cannot find the off switch for the shit tip of my head.
I tried to figure out why I do this to myself, work myself up into tears and complete frustration… but I can’t seem to find the answer. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe I just don’t want to see it. Maybe its because I know its, well, just… me.
So. Its three days till Christmas… just checking my maths there. I’m hoping it really is the 23rd today… wait. That means its two days till Christmas. Crap. Ok. So, its two days till Christmas. I have to go and pick up our Beef Wellington and some lamb from Marks and Spencers, cause my mum has abandoned me under the pretence of visiting her parents in law, but I know its just cause she wants to see my uncles brand spanking new extension and to hang around with famous people in Oxford. I also have to wrap presents, and see Ben, and maybe call Rue if I work up the courage. But right now, I don’t really feel like doing any of those things. I feel a bit like settling my arse back into the sofa to watch cribs and eat yoghurt coated raisins and send love sick messages to Leigh. But I know I’ll see him on New Years, and I know that cribs will just be the same shit all over again, And I know eating too many yoghurt coated raisins makes me sick. But I want to do it anyway. Even though I know I shouldn’t. It still beats dragging half a cow and a dead lamb around with me on the tram.
I feel a bit like my drive for life has been involved in a high speed wreckage. And knowing me, I don’t have any insurance.
The last few weeks have been, to put it bluntly, a bit rubbish. The ball was a bit of a disaster at the end, Leigh and I have managed our fist tentative steps into the domain of couple’s arguments, I have hated my friends and I have rather disliked myself to boot. Plus the mountains of reading, the week long pre Christmas diet of a migraine and the kidney infection. I just feel a bit… washed out now. I’m levelling out as pretty much the emotional equivalent of 9/11, which is a bit of a shame in my opinion cause no-one should go mad at Christmas. Everyone should just sit around and eat mince pies, and watch movies that the ok but not good enough for you or anyone you know to own, and argue with your family and not think too much. Well, I managed the arguing with the family about ten minutes after arriving home, I have enjoyed my fair share of mince pies at Toms belated birthday and I have already watched ‘watership down’. But alas, I cannot find the off switch for the shit tip of my head.
I tried to figure out why I do this to myself, work myself up into tears and complete frustration… but I can’t seem to find the answer. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe I just don’t want to see it. Maybe its because I know its, well, just… me.
So. Its three days till Christmas… just checking my maths there. I’m hoping it really is the 23rd today… wait. That means its two days till Christmas. Crap. Ok. So, its two days till Christmas. I have to go and pick up our Beef Wellington and some lamb from Marks and Spencers, cause my mum has abandoned me under the pretence of visiting her parents in law, but I know its just cause she wants to see my uncles brand spanking new extension and to hang around with famous people in Oxford. I also have to wrap presents, and see Ben, and maybe call Rue if I work up the courage. But right now, I don’t really feel like doing any of those things. I feel a bit like settling my arse back into the sofa to watch cribs and eat yoghurt coated raisins and send love sick messages to Leigh. But I know I’ll see him on New Years, and I know that cribs will just be the same shit all over again, And I know eating too many yoghurt coated raisins makes me sick. But I want to do it anyway. Even though I know I shouldn’t. It still beats dragging half a cow and a dead lamb around with me on the tram.
I feel a bit like my drive for life has been involved in a high speed wreckage. And knowing me, I don’t have any insurance.