ink_splotch

So, while Gemma was at home I planned to the following:

1.Start work on my dissertation.
1a. Get books out of the library
1b. Start reading my supplementary texts

2. Email my supervisor and have my dissertation question approved.

3. Email my department to see if changing special subjects is possible.

4. Write something.
4a. New Year's Resolution fic.
4b. Road trip story that has been stuck in my head for about a year now.

5. Do laundry.

How many things did I manage:

4a. New Year's Resolution fic. [started, and it is crap]

5. Do laundry. [had run out of socks]

Now, you might point out that Gemma isn't back for another day. To which I might point out that it's 5 am and it's light outside. I'm going to say Thursday's a bit of a lost cause, you know.

My uselessness, it frightens me. Although I do have an excuse today, as I had to distract a friend during preparations for her surprise party (though part of this was sleeping up against her for an hour) and I spent a lot of time with R, who is moving to France next year. So.

Still. Ask me how many Mock the Week episodes I've watched?

No, seriously, why won't Critical Theory work? I thought I had it, but, as is becoming the theme of this stupid break, I was wrong. It's kind of stressing me out to a ridiculous amount - I so want this essay to work, to be all those things we were told it was supposed to be: original, thought-provoking, off-the-beaten-path, something that doesn't necessarily have to be a traditional text: a film, a picture, a non-fictional text. And the only idea I've come up with so far that I can make work? The Book of the Duchess. OH YES THAT'S REALLY EXCITING. I'm supposed to be smart. I'm supposed to be able to do this, and yet my mind is completely blocked. It's partially because I'm pretty much a gender/queer theorist fan at heart and I've already done an essay on those theories, so all my ideas in that direction are utterly pointless, but that really shouldn't mean that I can't think of anything for psychoanalytic criticism or post-colonial. Work, brain. Work.

Also not helpful is my brain informing me that the reactions to yesterday's episode of Hollyoaks is a really good example of interpretive communities: Craig/John Paul shippers tending towards reading the episode as a declaration that there will never be anyone except Craig, whereas John Paul/Kieron shippers read the episode as John Paul saying Kieron could be the one who helps JP get over Craig. Add to that the discussions of whether or not there's chemistry between John Paul and Kieron, which also split down shipping lines and, well. It could be an interesting essay, particularly with regards to the vehemence with which the two parties disagree - a very striking illustration of how there's no text except the one we write in our heads. Or possibly an example of shippers gone truly crazy; that's the beauty of theory, it can be both things at once!

However, since I can't write that, maybe I should get my brain to focus on something I can.

Or I could go pack, and focus on the fact that I'm going home tomorrow, which means seeing Gemma - I can't even explain, two weeks seems like it's been forever. It's going to be so good to go back; don't get me wrong, I love being in Denmark and when I'm not here, I miss my family and Copenhagen and everyone, but Leicester's home. And Gemma, I miss Gemma, I miss having her typing in the background, or reading while I read, or napping with her and just, hi I miss being part of a couple. Which might be a little sad. Though, to be fair, I also just feel more like me in England - I'm part of Gemma♥Marie, Becca-and-Marie, my house, my seminar groups, I belong in England. And I have people I belong with here, I have friends, but it's not the same. It's weird.

And now, really. Packing.

Dear Self,
You are not allowed to write fanfiction. You have far, far too much stuff to do.

No. Seriously.

I don't care how much it hits your kinks. Jesus.
Sincerely,
Self

I collapsed at work today, which I say is pretty conclusive proof that my period pains are getting worse and it might be time to see a gynecologist. Boo.

I did get free sweets out of it, though. Mmmm, honeycomb.

Also, I'm not entirely sure why (may be because it mentions the Gaurdian? Maybe because Good Omens is more read than the Bible? Maybe because it just seems so content? Who knows.) but Neil Gaiman's most recent blog post makes me very happy.

Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm off to hunt paracetamol.

There's this advert for a newspaper in Copenhagen right now, which reads: "Your Every Day is Stressful Enough. Shouldn't Your Newspaper Be Simple?" Does reading the newspaper actually de-stress anyone? Or am I extrapolating the fact that I can't read a newspaper these days without wanting to cry and assuming everyone feels the same way?

In other news, George Bush continues to make me see red. I. Just. He renders me speechless. Terrorists see America as weak because of Vietnam? The mind boggles, it really does. And what pisses me off is that I can't stop reading the newspaper. I keep swearing I will, because it stresses me out and because it makes me feel guilty for not doing political science or something - not at least attempting to change the world, which I don't need. But I keep doing it, and every time I pick up a newspaper George Bush, Pia Kjærsgaard, Rupert Murdoch or someone will have said something that will make me sad and pissed off again. And I can't *stop*. Seriously. I'm beginning to think I like imaging the world sliding towards dystopia.

On a less depressing note, visited my Gemma and my house this week.

( The sappy stuff )

I'm also oddly enthused about my room now. It needs quite a few things - bookshelves being the most important of these things. My window turns out towards the yard, which gives a really nice light, actually - it turns towards the south, I think. Currently all it has is a bed, a wardrobe , a desk and my carpet, which makes it quite sparse-looking, but I can *see* it becoming really nice, once I raid an Ikea and move stuff around. The house is pretty cool, too - I'm really fond of our kitchen/living room area, which has these awesome stuffed chairs and sofas which are dreadfully comfortable and cosy and the kitchen is - easy? I guess is the word. Useful.

Only problem is that the house is really, really cold. I am so investing in a rug or two.

Finally, today I visited Copenhagen with the express purpose of buying a bridesmaid's dress (I have one, so now all I need are tickets home), which was oddly depressing and made my head ache (it was too warm and too muggy, just on the brink of rain and thunder) and so I bought a book I've been eyeing up for a long while, The Thirteenth Tale. It is incredible - the descriptions are very real, incredibly evocative. It's a mood book, definitely, incredibly gothic; it takes place in a mansion, with a engimatic lady of the manor; the house is full of rainy nights and the scrape of pen against paper, open fires crackling in every room and, of course, ghosts. Part return to the classic novel in the style of the Brontë sisters, part a tribute to books and the power of stories, it is a beautiful book. I'm in love.

Well, I was in a good mood right up until I failed to fall asleep last night. And today's just gone from reasonably mundane to bad in a slow, gentle swerve.

In short, I am not down with life. I've been seesawing up and down emotionally since I got back to university, but my mind seems to have made a decision to stay on the negative curve today. Glorious. I hate Mondays.

My iPod is broken - it won't turn off, not even if I pause it and leave it, so I either need to get it to a repair shop (of which there are five in the entire United freakin' Kingdom) or restore to factory settings - definitely something I want to do. This is my shortest lived iPod yet, which is vaguely fucking impressive, considering the last one lasted four months. Seriously, what is with me and the damn things?

Then my seminar today...ugh. I'm so, so tired of having these stupid seminars where getting a discussion going is like pulling nails. Our teacher'll ask for an opinion, and everyone will sit and stare at their hands; I'll answer, or the teacher will ask someone for an answer, and then we start over. God. What are these people doing at university? They don't want to have an opinion, or speak in public, or write essays, or read these "boring" plays. Oh, and opposing another student's opinion? Terrible form. We're all just supposed to agree with each other, even though some of the opinions ventured have no logic to back them up and have nothing to do with the play, and I'm sick of it. Participate, dammit! We've yet to get through an entire play, just because people won't fucking talk. Ugh.

On the bright side, I've got Disney songs. This makes me happy. It also makes me want to write an essay about "growing up Disney", an analysis of the growing up that happens in the Disney Renaissance films, how growth is symbolized, etc. Disney, the outsider and the engagement situation. That sort of thing. And speaking of the Renaissance films, has anyone else noticed how radically different The Lion King is from the other films of the period? It's actually rather weird.

Also, apparently tonight I'm playing rugby. Which should be interesting. Until then, my headache and I are going to bed.

My computer screen has met its maker. This means I need to buy a new computer - or invest in a screen. I am not best pleased, but it could be worse; at least I still have my hard drive. Still, the timing is ridiculous, since I could buy a cheaper computer in England, but I'm not sure I can wait that long. I think I may have to dig into my savings, which is bad. It'll add to the incentive for getting a job back in Leicester, though.

Am also failing spectacularly at getting reading done for my essays. I have a plan for them (Sylvia Plath by the 30th/31st; Woolf and Oondatje by 10th of January; History essay by the 21st), but the whole reading thing? Not really happening. Which is silly, since I bloody well dragged the stupid, heavy books all the way here.

Still, after visiting Sofie tomorrow, I will hopefully feel rejuvenated and more willing to buckle down and study. Because tomorrow will be awesome.

Also after tomorrow, I will stop being such a weenie about missing Leicester and instead feel the true spirit of the season. Or some such. Which reminds me - I need to wrap presents. And buy the last four; I missing half my mother's gift, something for both step-parentals and a friend.

Despite all my whiming, so far being home has been quite enjoyable. While still at my father's I went out with friends from my old class - sadly, this resulted in a tragic hangover the day after - and then had coffee with Yasmin this Monday. Was a bit of a relief to discuss the world's issues and ups-and-downs with her; I love my English friends, but they're not the most political of people. Also, they don't know all the people from my old school, and as such, cannot gossip. Not that I'm an old biddy, or anything, but it is nice to be kept abreast of what's going on.

However. Yasmin's latest guy has invited her to go see Al Gore and Hans Blix lecture in Copenhagen. Not on, says I! Yasmin has all the fun.