This is why we can't have nice things.
Soooo, I just handed in an essay. And by 'handed in', I mean 'emailed as it was due in nine minutes and the postgrad computer lab inexplicably has no printer what the hell'. For those of you playing at home, this was the 3,000 word Honours essay that I started writing at 1 a.m. Sixteen hours later, I have something I'm reasonably pleased with, and can now go home and drink. There's a decided dearth of referenced material, but I assume that seeing as I'm responding largely to one article that that'll be okay. Let's hope the lecturer thinks so too. Hell, seven articles in three thousand words can't be all bad. That's, like, a new book every four hundred words!
You'd think that by now I'd have learned to start things well before the due date. You'd think. This trimester, like every other trimester, is going to be different. That's how sure of failure I am: I've already expressed the fact that this determination occurs every trimester. You can guess by the bit where this is my fifth year of study that I've had limited success in changing my ways. One thing that guarantees my desire to work more productively is the sci-fi course. I mean, I've always wanted to write about the X-Men. And now I can. I am, however, wearing Superman boxers, so let's see where my loyalties end up.
Having not posted for almost a week, I've decided that I am so good at procrastinating that I am rapidly learning to procrastinate on my procrastination. This journal was originally going to be updated at least three times a week. Now, even the music video reviews seem like a chore. I can't even begin to think about 'White Fire, Black Sun', let alone cram it down to 200 words, and I go days without reading my usual webcomics, so everything gets confusing and Memento-ish. But: music videos tonight. In the next nine hours or so. I promise.
I read about an earthquake that occurred in the Hawke's Bay (I'm assuming, but I don't know where suckerlove lives at the moment) recently. It's funny: they terrify me. I have been visiting houses on hillsides, and when the wind moves the house, I catapult to my feet and take shelter in a doorway. The bizarre thing is that the events themselves aren't that bad, usually. After the initial shock, I am fine. It's just the 'ohgodohgodohgod' feeling of the first shudder.
I take a quantum of solace in the fact that when the Great Falcor that lives underground does decide to shake all the dirt off and start flying again, it'll be wicked cool for a split second before all the screaming.
(Yes, the Great Falcor. They have a church. And a holy book. I tried to read it, but couldn't get all the way through.)