House and uni ranting
So, am now back at uni and have the time, sort of, to write.
Firstly, I hate it here. I really, really, hate it here. The house would be fine if I had a car instead of being stuck here, or having to walk a minimum half-hours walk to the centre of town. And I can't deal with another eight weeks of passive aggressive arguments about the TV, cooking, cleaning and bills. I'm in a Larkin place, I desire oblivion and to be alone. Have progressed from tortured writer love to the desire to be one. Except that I miss my parents and my brothers, and my best friend that I can't speak to anymore because we have nothing left in common. And I have one friend coming out of a bad-breakup that I can't do anything about, and can't give her the advice she needs because it's not what she wants. I ache.
Secondly, I can't study any more. I haven't done any law the whole summer, and now I don't remember it to do. Oxford is a terrible place to not be completely in love with your subject, especially when you have exams tomorrow that you haven't revised for. And they're going to throw me out, which I wouldn't care so much about, but I can't take the failure, and how disappointed my parents and teachers would be in me. Which are the same reasons I can't just drop out.
And Serenity's box-office isn't good. Which shouldn't be affecting my well-being, but is. Especially given the number of Browncoats disowning the film. I'm going to see it again tomorrow with a group of friends, and some of them are bound not to like it. And it will be just like every bad review, like a personal attack.
Plus, as if all that wasn't enough to send my fragile sanity spinning, my muse has gone running. I want to write some West Wing (though I should be studying) and all the voices have run away. And THE NOVEL has also stopped dead. Which leaves me here, randomly reading Discworld and LOST slash, because I have no energy to do anything else. Except say frak in my head a lot. It's a good word, but I fear its too easy to understand what it means to use in normal conversation.
Firstly, I hate it here. I really, really, hate it here. The house would be fine if I had a car instead of being stuck here, or having to walk a minimum half-hours walk to the centre of town. And I can't deal with another eight weeks of passive aggressive arguments about the TV, cooking, cleaning and bills. I'm in a Larkin place, I desire oblivion and to be alone. Have progressed from tortured writer love to the desire to be one. Except that I miss my parents and my brothers, and my best friend that I can't speak to anymore because we have nothing left in common. And I have one friend coming out of a bad-breakup that I can't do anything about, and can't give her the advice she needs because it's not what she wants. I ache.
Secondly, I can't study any more. I haven't done any law the whole summer, and now I don't remember it to do. Oxford is a terrible place to not be completely in love with your subject, especially when you have exams tomorrow that you haven't revised for. And they're going to throw me out, which I wouldn't care so much about, but I can't take the failure, and how disappointed my parents and teachers would be in me. Which are the same reasons I can't just drop out.
And Serenity's box-office isn't good. Which shouldn't be affecting my well-being, but is. Especially given the number of Browncoats disowning the film. I'm going to see it again tomorrow with a group of friends, and some of them are bound not to like it. And it will be just like every bad review, like a personal attack.
Plus, as if all that wasn't enough to send my fragile sanity spinning, my muse has gone running. I want to write some West Wing (though I should be studying) and all the voices have run away. And THE NOVEL has also stopped dead. Which leaves me here, randomly reading Discworld and LOST slash, because I have no energy to do anything else. Except say frak in my head a lot. It's a good word, but I fear its too easy to understand what it means to use in normal conversation.