turn it up
I'm not sure how this entry will turn out; continuous prose seems to be beyond me tonight. Even my essay is still in note form, and it's due in tomorrow. Greek literature 2: "a)/ndra moi e)/nnepe (1.1): How do the adventures in Books IX-X 'make a man' of Odysseus?" Still, I managed to do my philosophy essay in a day last week and got the best response I've received all term; conciseness seems to be the way to go. (I just took a swallow of my coffee and realised I'd put salt in it instead of sugar. Nothing will ever taste good again. Ever. Gah. I fed the rest of it to Julian - as Iain hilariously pointed out, Julian enjoys hot salty liquids in general.)
So! Alex-ness on Friday (!!!); looking divine with her long hair and Tolstoy coat. I showed her some of the colleges and we tried to take photos of the river and Kings Chapel, but it was too dark for our digicams. Drank a bottle of white wine each and downed doubles of absinthe. I remember spinning like mad things in market square till we collapsed in a screaming giggling tangle, explaining to her about the Vans of Life and Death, and running too fast along Kings Parade hand in hand laughing till my sides hurt, then tripping over the step but not caring about my skinned knees, only the broken absinthe bottle which I'd wanted to put on my bookshelves as a souvenir. The wormwood making everything glittering again, as if all the days and nights inbetween had never taken place. I've missed having her in my life; I've become complacent. I love the people here but (like I said) they don't challenge me in the same way, to live as violently and creatively as I can. And oh, it's so much harder at times, but infinitely worthwhile.
Yesterday was perfectly wintry. The lawns in the quad brushed with frost and glittering in the early morning, and the sky all white and swollen with snow. Walking past Parker's Piece with Iain we couldn't see the tops of the trees. I was hungover and indulged in retail therapy, splurging on an autumn-coloured woollen jumper, all chunky stripes in dark red and brown and cream and dusky grey-blue; and Wayne's World, Some Like It Hot and the new special edition Fellowship of the Ring on DVD. We curled up in bed watching kung fu films and got take-out pizza, listening to the wind clattering against the windows and feeling deliciously snug, and stayed up talking until the early hours, real late-night conversations like when we first met. I told him about Laura and my awful childhood obsessions and he didn't really understand but accepted it all, which brought us closer, in a way. Not as intense or as compulsive as any of my other relationships, but maybe that's a good thing. For the first time in my life I'm happy not knowing where it's going, not needing it to be everything and always and forever, and that has to be healthy, I think.
I'm going to visit my nana on Wednesday. And it'll be all buried under small-talk and understatement, the way grandparents do (you know, mustn't grumble) but I'm hoping that somewhere there'll be a seed of real intimacy, of communication. You miss out on that as a child.
So! Alex-ness on Friday (!!!); looking divine with her long hair and Tolstoy coat. I showed her some of the colleges and we tried to take photos of the river and Kings Chapel, but it was too dark for our digicams. Drank a bottle of white wine each and downed doubles of absinthe. I remember spinning like mad things in market square till we collapsed in a screaming giggling tangle, explaining to her about the Vans of Life and Death, and running too fast along Kings Parade hand in hand laughing till my sides hurt, then tripping over the step but not caring about my skinned knees, only the broken absinthe bottle which I'd wanted to put on my bookshelves as a souvenir. The wormwood making everything glittering again, as if all the days and nights inbetween had never taken place. I've missed having her in my life; I've become complacent. I love the people here but (like I said) they don't challenge me in the same way, to live as violently and creatively as I can. And oh, it's so much harder at times, but infinitely worthwhile.
Yesterday was perfectly wintry. The lawns in the quad brushed with frost and glittering in the early morning, and the sky all white and swollen with snow. Walking past Parker's Piece with Iain we couldn't see the tops of the trees. I was hungover and indulged in retail therapy, splurging on an autumn-coloured woollen jumper, all chunky stripes in dark red and brown and cream and dusky grey-blue; and Wayne's World, Some Like It Hot and the new special edition Fellowship of the Ring on DVD. We curled up in bed watching kung fu films and got take-out pizza, listening to the wind clattering against the windows and feeling deliciously snug, and stayed up talking until the early hours, real late-night conversations like when we first met. I told him about Laura and my awful childhood obsessions and he didn't really understand but accepted it all, which brought us closer, in a way. Not as intense or as compulsive as any of my other relationships, but maybe that's a good thing. For the first time in my life I'm happy not knowing where it's going, not needing it to be everything and always and forever, and that has to be healthy, I think.
I'm going to visit my nana on Wednesday. And it'll be all buried under small-talk and understatement, the way grandparents do (you know, mustn't grumble) but I'm hoping that somewhere there'll be a seed of real intimacy, of communication. You miss out on that as a child.