ick
Staggered home around elevenish last night from the usual excellently excessive jo&stv Thaifoodfest and drunk-up. 'Tis a truth universally acknowledged, I get more trashed at jo&stv's than at any other venue in the known universe. Why, I'm not sure, unless it's stv's over-identification with the Perfect Host trope (the tragically recurring Never-Empty Wine Glass phenomenon), but the fact remains, I tried to post this last night, and typed more errors in that last sentence than I did over the last ten posts combined. While narcissistic self-loathing, combined with years of exposure to student grammatical solecisms, allows me to minimalise actual typos even while technically drunk*, it seemed safer to abandon the draft and revisit it in the morning, or, as it happened, evening.
I've been suffering from some sort of low-grade virus for the last few days, making me feel as though I'm drunk and exhausted more or less 24/7, regardless of actual sleep patterns or alcohol consumption. This has made for a week of somewhat pale and disconnected teaching. You know you're in an academic rut when you can hold forth on Spenser's Faerie Queen, which has to be one of the most densely pretentious pieces of poetry in the English canon, more or less in trance state for several hours. I don't remember what I said, really, but the class took lots of notes. I'm sure the more interestingly trippy interpretations will get back to me in essays. Anyway, it turns out that the bug is in fact of the gastric variety, presumably the one that has been bounding around my immediate social environs with the promiscuous friendliness of a happy puppy. I have not quite reached the happy puppy state of actually being sick on the carpet, I simply feel as though I want to be on a more or less continual basis. Bleah.
* Mostly you can tell I'm drunk mainly by the increasing tendency towards multisyllabic tendentiousness, something I've picked up from a previous boyfriend who enunciated with increasingly bell-like clarity the drunker he got. (You know who you are. English postgraduatism can't be blamed for everything, after all).
I've been suffering from some sort of low-grade virus for the last few days, making me feel as though I'm drunk and exhausted more or less 24/7, regardless of actual sleep patterns or alcohol consumption. This has made for a week of somewhat pale and disconnected teaching. You know you're in an academic rut when you can hold forth on Spenser's Faerie Queen, which has to be one of the most densely pretentious pieces of poetry in the English canon, more or less in trance state for several hours. I don't remember what I said, really, but the class took lots of notes. I'm sure the more interestingly trippy interpretations will get back to me in essays. Anyway, it turns out that the bug is in fact of the gastric variety, presumably the one that has been bounding around my immediate social environs with the promiscuous friendliness of a happy puppy. I have not quite reached the happy puppy state of actually being sick on the carpet, I simply feel as though I want to be on a more or less continual basis. Bleah.
* Mostly you can tell I'm drunk mainly by the increasing tendency towards multisyllabic tendentiousness, something I've picked up from a previous boyfriend who enunciated with increasingly bell-like clarity the drunker he got. (You know who you are. English postgraduatism can't be blamed for everything, after all).