ink_splotch

So, the English Ball is coming up (in, like, two months, but most of that time I'll be in Denmark, so let's call it soon), and even though I don't need a dress for it, I kind of want one. Specifically, I want this or this. They're both pretty, with sleeves and fuctional looking - I could particularly see myself wearing the Gwyneth one more than once. And yet - £85 is so much money. Do I really need another dress? But still, they're so pretty. And relatively easy to accessorize, I should think; particularly the Gwyneth would be lovely with dangling pearl earrings and some nice mid-heels.

I'm slightly worried about the fact that I'm using fashion as a way of relaxing. This...is not entirely normal.

In other news, the essay of doom has been finished; I am almost done with my presentation notes for tomorrow; and I've finished The Passion, so I'm not behind on any of my reading. Not ahead either, but if there's one thing the 6 hours of therapy and stress-workshops I've attended in the past week have taught me, it is that small victories are still victories. So, I am going to celebrate by spending 15 minutes looking at shoes and surfing Jezbel before I start on dinner. Mmmm.

(Also keep my fingers crossed that housemate R is working tomorrow instead of me, so I can go to town with Gemma.)

Girls of St.Mary's - SGA, NC-17. I know everyone and their mother have recced this fic already, but still - it's just that good. It really is, all hot and awkward in the first two parts, and then brilliant and heart-breaking and real in the second part, and seriously? 1950s school girls making out. Why are you still reading this?

In other news, as of tomorrow, I should be done with all of my written work this term. Okay, so it's late coming, but hey, I'm done and that's something.

It's something that means I should start revising and I really should know what I want to do next year and why is this stupid year so stressful? I mean, I love this and all, I really do, but right now? A year off almost sounds like a good idea. No papers! No homework! No panicking about deadlines! On the other hand, crappy job back in Denmark. Err. Maybe not that good. Hum.

I'm very seriously considering begging off a party one of my friends' girlfriend is hosting tomorrow, so I'll be awake to go to church. It's a little silly, because HI I don't see my friends that often, and HI, student. Drinking with friends is kind of a thing you know? But I didn't get to church last Sunday because of travel, and I miss it, and I miss England, and I'd rather be awake and go to church and then go home and get some work done.

(Also, this place is ridiculously pretty and zen and parties are not. On the whole.)

On a completely unrelated note, look at the Gender & Sexuality MA at Manchester. It's looks an awful lot like a course with pratical application, and seems to have a lot of cross-over between cultural studies and sociology and it is so my second choice now. Seriously, it looks ridiculously good.

(Newcastle, of course, remains my top priority, but still. I would not be unhappy at Manchester.)

I should go to bed. It's really rather unlikely that I will be able to write anything sensible on my dissertation when I'm about to face plant into the keyboard.

I announced to the room, as we were watching Eddington and Einstein, that I couldn't see people at Oxford, pre-1930, in their dress without thinking they're gay; approximately a minute later, R announced that Eddington was in fact gay.

I'm not sure what to make of this (except maybe cry - David Tennat is such an amazing actor, something I think I underappreciated when he was playing Who).

I'm faintly annoyed that Eddington & Einstein didn't come out before the yuletide deadline; I can't help think you could write some excellent stories inspired by it.

Speaking of yuletide (but not my story, which I have yet to start), I really want to get to the archive and see if they have any Donald Strachey fics. Because apparently, the way to deal with dissertation stress is to watch pulp-y gay crime thrillers. It's very entertaining and I massively adore the relationship between Donald and Timmy - mostly Timmy, because he's so sweet and long-suffering. But then again, I always have a thing for the partner. And the films are just - not pointless fluff, exactly, but romps, crime romps, entertainng to watch and not demanding too much energy.

Which is good, 'cause I have very little.

In other news: Warwick kind of fails on a number of levels, and I'm off to Newcastle on Wednesday. Whee!

I'm having a pretty good time right now. I feel very content and at peace with myself. Even the fact that I have a doctor's appointment to talk about my ultra-sound/scan this week isn't bugging me too much.

And because I am a sharing person (and a caring person!), I have decided to compile a list of things that make me happy, so that you might share in them.

1.

I've been listening to The Seeger Sessions: Live in Dublin all week, and getting a lot of glee out of it (folk music, who knew?). But particularly this song because it's one of my favourites anyway and I wouldn't have thought it could be improved upon. But it could and it is and just listen to the song. How gorgeous is that?

1a. Also, have a download of Frankie, the best Bruce Springsteen song ever (maybe).

2. You know when you want something to read, and you're kind of in the mood for something soppy and romantic and not straight? But you don't trust the Amazon recommendations, because quite frankly, they lie? Well, now there's this awesome post by cesperanza, which should contain enough recs to keep me happy for years to come.

2a. Also keeping me happy? The Best Short Stories of Lesléa Newman, most of which are lovely and quite of few of which are happy and involve sex. Yay, romantic lesbians!

2b. (When I'm not reading lesbian stories and academic things, I've been reading the Anne of Green Gables series. I can't help it! It makes me so happy!)

3. So, I've recently been up north, visiting Friend R, and I may be slightly enamored. And for enamored, read madly in love with Newcastle and Newcastle University. It all looks so awesome! And exciting! And they have a sort of "fast-track" degree where you can sign up for a PhD immediately, which seems oddly tempting. Particularly for children's literature at Newcastle, which looks amazing. I'm also tempted by the 'Literature, Memory and Culture' option, which looks oddly like something relevant and useful related to English.

3a. Seriously, Newcastle has a moor, a river, seven bridges and coffee rooms. I WANT TO LIVE THERE, you have no idea.

4. Today, it has been sunny, church was nice, lunch at the minister's afterwards was nicer, and going home and snuggling up to nap with Gemma was nicest. I feel so incredibly lucky sometimes.

5. Also, you guys gave very helpful advice with regards to my laptop issues. Thank you! ♥

I think the best thing you can say about my grades is that they indicate how completely ridiculously nonacademic our exams are.

Still. It could have gone a lot worse. And I managed to get two super-firsts for essays, so that pleases me. The only thing I'm really disappointed in is my critical theory, but from the comments on the script, I think I understand what went wrong. Which is something.

Oddly enough, this hasn't added to concerns about whether or not I'm doing the right degree, which I suppose is a good sign. I mean, critical theory is making me worry about my dissertation, but then again, it's a completely different type of paper, so maybe I shouldn't over think it. But on the whole, all these grades really tell me is that I'm better at essays.

I've just had the most terrible hair cut. I get this feeling every nine months or so that I should cut my hair to above my shoulders, and it's never a good idea and yet I always do it. But this time it is truly, truly atrocious. Like, I look like a "before" photo terrible. And it's slightly too short now, so I can't even have it touched up, really. Why do I do it? Why?

On the plus side, it looks quite nice when plaited, very school-girl-in-the-good-way. So as long as I keep it like that for a couple of months, I'll be fine. *despairs*

I am currently watching EastEnders, possibly because I am experiencing traditional why-am-I-not-in-Leicester. It's always like this: I'm barely on the plane before I'm thinking time to go home, even though I know that I like being in Denmark, and I enjoy spending time with my family and friends here, but the first day is always weird. And so I'm watching EastEnders in order to combat homesickness. It's not entirely working.

Speaking of combating loneliness - 3000 words of fic. There went most of my day.

Oh! In actual interesting stuff: I was in the St.Pancras' Foyles. I haven't had proper bookshop *glee* in ages, but I walked in and it was beautiful. Booklust blooming instantly, I tell you. They have these beautiful exclusive versions of Sherlock Holmes looking exactly like you've always imagine they should look, but never truly, consciously realized and it took absolutely everything in me not to buy them all - or at the very least Hound of the Baskervilles. So beautiful. And now I want to go to the actual store so damn much. It's supposed to be huge and organized and full of books. WANT.

So life is mostly good here. Still. MY HAIR YOU GUYS!

1. A week ago, Sofie went home, which was very sad, but before then we had an awesome week where too much money was spent, too much tv was watched and too much squeeing was done. Much love, Sofie ♥!

2. Yesterday was the premiere of Torchwood which had me full of squee and will be fully discussed in a post coming soon to an LJ near you.

3. My exams are done and sucked and I hate them, hate them, but they are done and that is, at least, something.

4. Two of my closest friends broke up and I haven't spoken to either of them in ages and I feel like a terrible friend. Also I am dealing badly with the reality of their no longer being together.

1.
Would'st thou divert thyself from melancholy?
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Would'st though read riddles, and their explanation?
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
[...]
Would'st thou lose thyself, and catch no harm,
And find thyself again without a charm?
Would'st thou read thyself, and read thou know'st not what,
And yet know whether thou are blest or not,
By reading the same lines? O then come hither,
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.
John Bunyan: The Author's Apology for his Book

2. I have 1971 words of an essay which started out ambitiously and ended up being utterly conventional. That is not the point, however. The point is it is a essay for Renaissance Literature which a) is reasonably good (i.e. I won't fail) and b) didn't result in my death or the death of others. This is a good RenLit essay.

3. I was talking to Freya yesterday and she asked me what was new here and I realized ho happy I am. Not right this moment - right this moment I'm a bit sleepy and kind of hungry and a little frustrated with RenLit in general - but overall. In general. I think this year is maybe the happiest I've been in 5 or 6 years. It's not that I've been depressed, but there's just always been something not quite right, and now there isn't. Or at least not as chronically; now, most mornings, I wake up happy, I have good days, I talk to people, I don't mind asking for help, I don't mind being on my own because I know it's my choice. It's weird how I didn't notice it sneaking up on me.

4.
Stories were different, though: they came alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by torchlight beneath a blanket, they had no real existence in our world. They were like seeds in the beak of a bird, waiting to fall to earth, or the notes of a song laid out on a sheet, yearning for an instrument to bring their music into being. They lay dormant, hoping for the chance to emerge. Once someone started to read them, they could begin to change. They could take root in the imagination and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read, David's mother would whisper. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life.
- John Connolly: The Book of Lost Things

5. There's a really interesting comparison to be made between Anansi Boys and The Book of Lost Things, I can't help but feel.

6. This is an incredibly bad idea, because it means that when your lecturer decides that an interesting 15 minutes digression from the theme of women in Anglo-Saxon lit would be homosocial and homoerotic bonds in the same, you and Becca will spend the entire fifteen mintues stifling giggles and occasionally writing lewd notes on each other's notebooks.

7. It is desperately cold here. Is it cold where you are?

I'm going to have to go into debt. Possibly. On the bright side, it'll probably only be for two months, less than that if I can get a job, but still. It's a big scary thing and I'd really, really like a hug. Look at me, not dealing with the adult world!

Also, I won't have internet until the 28th now, due to mismanagement at SKY. Boo!

On the school front, I am both looking forward to and dreading the start of term, as my courses for this semester are Old England, Chaucer and Renaissance Literature, meaning I have a course in a foreign language (sob!), a semi-foreign (I KNOW Chaucer is supposed to be awesome and all that, but still...) and a course that requires reading Paradise Lost and the Faerie Queene. To be fair, I only need to read 40 more pages of 'Paradise' and I'll be done, but still. Long. Loooooong. One day, I will hunt down whoever decided "screw it, we can tell stories just as well in prose as in verse" and buy him/her a drink. My issue is really that none of my thrills appear this term, and also that learning new languages is one of my phobias on par with, like, skiing or something like that.

That's not to say there are no bright sides; Gemma will move in to her house permanently as of Friday (and bring up the Pratchetts I'm missing, yay geek girlfriend!); Ros and Mike are over for dinner tonight (argh, I have no money for groceries); SKY TV has been set up, so I have about a million channels; I have managed to purchase all my text books for less than £60; my room has furniture (desk, wardrobe, chest of drawers, bedside cabinet, HUGE BOOKSHELF, YEAH) and plants; new Prachett book out on the 24th of September; when I've finished 'Paradise Lost' I can dedicate myself to reading 'The Ghost Road', the last book in the Regeneration series which is just. I can't describe it. It's brilliant and heartbreaking and moving and queer and all my buttons, people. I mean, it has the added bonus that it reads like a check-list of postmodern literary theories, but just the characters, man, particularly Billy and Rivers and I must admit a soft spot for Owen and Manning in book two (The Eye in the Door). It's like the best kind of WW1 fic, I think I'm in love. Preference currently for Regeneration over The Eye in the Door, but I read both of them in record time because I couldn't put them down and it's been a while since that happened to me.

Finally, my mother got married this Saturday, which was kind of awesome, and I saw Sofie on Sunday which was majorly for the win, and spending lots and lots of time with Gemma is never bad, so it's not like I'm unhappy with life, really.

Just scared. Very scared. I'm not sure this grown-up thing is for me.