(no subject)
1. My fluency in condor grows everyday.
2. Martin Sparks called Jim 'fucking' Morrisey's house today to find out that my re-mark had already come through. In fact, in all probability, it came through about a month ago and he just failed to contact me, or my family, or the college. He probably sat in a small hovel in the ground sticking his long girly nails into my letter while licking photos of Emma and whispering 'my precious'. Anyway, I was right: no change.
Some streak of sickness in me allows me to think that being right is almost as good as actually having my mark corrected. I say corrected because I really believe it's a good essay. Maybe, as I read it this morning to refresh my memory, I am a little overfond of rhetorical questions but somehow it seems (although possibly only to me because I think it is good) quite endearing. Definitely not a crime that drops it from an A (from someone who likes rhetoric eg Stephen) to a D (from two IB examiners who don't like it). Also vanity is a potent, if extremely ugly*, method of healing wounds. Anyway as is life and I shall have to cope accordingly.
*I wanted to use 'smelly' here to carry on the medieval herbal remedy theme of the sentence, but then decided I was actually trying to apologise for yet further livejournal narcissism so it shouldn't be obscured by ludicrous metaphor.
3. Okay, I'm feeling a little down and I think that I should just check my email to see if Magdalen have replied and told me to piss off, as this would allow me to just give up on it and go to Europe. And I find this:
"Thanks for this [my email]. I'll have to wait until all other results are out, but strictly off the record, and between you and me only, I don't think you have too much to worry about.
Enjoy the rest of the summer.
M" (M for Michael Allingham, the admissions tutor.)
Now what do I do?
4. I really have to get out of the habit of telling everyone things I'm not meant to tell anyone. It could seriously cause problems one day.
2. Martin Sparks called Jim 'fucking' Morrisey's house today to find out that my re-mark had already come through. In fact, in all probability, it came through about a month ago and he just failed to contact me, or my family, or the college. He probably sat in a small hovel in the ground sticking his long girly nails into my letter while licking photos of Emma and whispering 'my precious'. Anyway, I was right: no change.
Some streak of sickness in me allows me to think that being right is almost as good as actually having my mark corrected. I say corrected because I really believe it's a good essay. Maybe, as I read it this morning to refresh my memory, I am a little overfond of rhetorical questions but somehow it seems (although possibly only to me because I think it is good) quite endearing. Definitely not a crime that drops it from an A (from someone who likes rhetoric eg Stephen) to a D (from two IB examiners who don't like it). Also vanity is a potent, if extremely ugly*, method of healing wounds. Anyway as is life and I shall have to cope accordingly.
*I wanted to use 'smelly' here to carry on the medieval herbal remedy theme of the sentence, but then decided I was actually trying to apologise for yet further livejournal narcissism so it shouldn't be obscured by ludicrous metaphor.
3. Okay, I'm feeling a little down and I think that I should just check my email to see if Magdalen have replied and told me to piss off, as this would allow me to just give up on it and go to Europe. And I find this:
"Thanks for this [my email]. I'll have to wait until all other results are out, but strictly off the record, and between you and me only, I don't think you have too much to worry about.
Enjoy the rest of the summer.
M" (M for Michael Allingham, the admissions tutor.)
Now what do I do?
4. I really have to get out of the habit of telling everyone things I'm not meant to tell anyone. It could seriously cause problems one day.