Stuff and nonsense.
I am a wee bit miserable right now, for various reasons - the most obvious and er, petulant of which is that I am the only person in my flat of five-and-a-half people who had to do any actual work this weekend. Which is quite horrifically childish of me, but waaaah, it's lovely weather, and we had a picnic, and I really wanted to sit all afternoon with my friends trailing my fingers in the Isis and eating cheese, but this wasn't to be because of urgh, so much work and surely 11am on Tuesday of first is far too early for a deadline? And it's impossible to actually do any of that work when all around you people are having fun and being far too noisy about it, and no libaries are open on a Sunday for you to work in.
And the other reason is that my parents were here, dropping off some of my stuff, and I miss them. A lot. More because I've seen them, if that makes sense. And Balliol is doing a Parents' Day ("How delightfully archaic," someone commented) which sounds exactly like parents' days in Enid Blyton school stories, with strawberries and cream and cricket, and my parents were going to come and stay a couple of days and they've never visited me in Oxford before and it would've been lovely. Only when they appeared (briefly) yesterday, they said they'd been invited to a wedding that they can't get out of and they can't come after all. And of course I was very understanding and waited until after they'd gone to stamp my feet and throw things, because this always happens, there's always something, and they promised and I'm always understanding so why couldn't I have come first, this time?
(Urgh, I know I sound horrible. I am horrible. I'll get over it. At the moment I'm being charmingly passive-aggressive and refusing to help my mum pick a dress for the wedding.)
I went to the Pit last night for a party - it being the Glorious Natal Day of both slasheuse and frank_snow - and got not at all drunk but vaguely stoned (at the time I didn't think so, but I ate a lot yesterday night) and ultimately quite a lot miserable, so I went home and bemaoaned my fate a little bit, and fell asleep in a huff, if that is indeed possible. And woke up and was Productive, at least in the sense that I handed out four hundred - I counted - Cerberus leaflets, and utterly failed to do any work. There was the picnic, and then my flatmates playing a lazy game of cricket on the field in the dying light, and I gave up trying to work here and went to college carrying all my books and hating everyone.
(Yes! One paragraph down, I am still horrible!)
Okay, enough. Things that are of greatness:
1. Philosophy of mind. Utterly, utterly great. The only article I did manage to read today was called What If I Do Have Little Men Inside My Head?
2. OULES. I went to the auditions tonight, with Maria, and saw foulds at last and hid with jacinthsong at the back and read through a play featuring hungover Russians. It was marvellous.
3. remix_redux. I haven't had a chance to read much yet, including the story written for me, but my remixee redeemed a crappy evening by leaving just the loveliest comment, that made me go a bit squishy. (Which I'm reliably informed was just the qualitiative internal experience of the homunculus in my head waving Placard G in response to Input Y178, but it makes no functional difference so never mind.)
4. Remus J. Lupin. Yes, I appreciate this is not an entirely new sentiment on my part, but Remus really is great. And there are new pics from the OotP film, and Thewlis actually looks like Remus. I can't put my finger on exactly why or how he does now, when he didn't in PoA, but oh, my, yes.
5. Baths.
Actually, baths should not go on the list. Which is not to say baths are not great, because they are. I love hot baths, they do nice things to my head, such as making me stop thinking about Life and Work and The FutureTM and start thinking about Nail Varnish and Fanfiction and Salad Dressing, and as such I crave them much in the manner of chocolate or sushi or sex, but they don't go on the list. I don't have a bath in which to take baths any more - unlike last year, when I had a bathtub but no shower, the converse now holds - and I'm actually missing the previous state of affairs.
From which I can only conclude that I'm coming perilously close to thinking far too much about things, and should probably go to bed.
And the other reason is that my parents were here, dropping off some of my stuff, and I miss them. A lot. More because I've seen them, if that makes sense. And Balliol is doing a Parents' Day ("How delightfully archaic," someone commented) which sounds exactly like parents' days in Enid Blyton school stories, with strawberries and cream and cricket, and my parents were going to come and stay a couple of days and they've never visited me in Oxford before and it would've been lovely. Only when they appeared (briefly) yesterday, they said they'd been invited to a wedding that they can't get out of and they can't come after all. And of course I was very understanding and waited until after they'd gone to stamp my feet and throw things, because this always happens, there's always something, and they promised and I'm always understanding so why couldn't I have come first, this time?
(Urgh, I know I sound horrible. I am horrible. I'll get over it. At the moment I'm being charmingly passive-aggressive and refusing to help my mum pick a dress for the wedding.)
I went to the Pit last night for a party - it being the Glorious Natal Day of both slasheuse and frank_snow - and got not at all drunk but vaguely stoned (at the time I didn't think so, but I ate a lot yesterday night) and ultimately quite a lot miserable, so I went home and bemaoaned my fate a little bit, and fell asleep in a huff, if that is indeed possible. And woke up and was Productive, at least in the sense that I handed out four hundred - I counted - Cerberus leaflets, and utterly failed to do any work. There was the picnic, and then my flatmates playing a lazy game of cricket on the field in the dying light, and I gave up trying to work here and went to college carrying all my books and hating everyone.
(Yes! One paragraph down, I am still horrible!)
Okay, enough. Things that are of greatness:
1. Philosophy of mind. Utterly, utterly great. The only article I did manage to read today was called What If I Do Have Little Men Inside My Head?
2. OULES. I went to the auditions tonight, with Maria, and saw foulds at last and hid with jacinthsong at the back and read through a play featuring hungover Russians. It was marvellous.
3. remix_redux. I haven't had a chance to read much yet, including the story written for me, but my remixee redeemed a crappy evening by leaving just the loveliest comment, that made me go a bit squishy. (Which I'm reliably informed was just the qualitiative internal experience of the homunculus in my head waving Placard G in response to Input Y178, but it makes no functional difference so never mind.)
4. Remus J. Lupin. Yes, I appreciate this is not an entirely new sentiment on my part, but Remus really is great. And there are new pics from the OotP film, and Thewlis actually looks like Remus. I can't put my finger on exactly why or how he does now, when he didn't in PoA, but oh, my, yes.
5. Baths.
Actually, baths should not go on the list. Which is not to say baths are not great, because they are. I love hot baths, they do nice things to my head, such as making me stop thinking about Life and Work and The FutureTM and start thinking about Nail Varnish and Fanfiction and Salad Dressing, and as such I crave them much in the manner of chocolate or sushi or sex, but they don't go on the list. I don't have a bath in which to take baths any more - unlike last year, when I had a bathtub but no shower, the converse now holds - and I'm actually missing the previous state of affairs.
From which I can only conclude that I'm coming perilously close to thinking far too much about things, and should probably go to bed.