ink_splotch

For a in many ways bad day, today really made me realize how much I love my department and my university and my stupid lecturers. I (somewhat inevitably) ended up crying in my seminar today, and so my lecturer (awkwardly, my favourite lecturer ever, who was my first tutor in first year) pulled me aside, and basically did everything he could to make life easier for me - he gave me an extension on my essay, told me not to worry about falling behind on reading, and assured me that I could catch up - and then he basically all but ordered me to seek help, and reccomended me a doctor. And it was just so stupidly nice to have an adult telling me that I'd be okay; I really appreciate the support I get from my friends and all, but it's different having an adult tell you these things.

So now I'm embaressed that I cried in front of a lecturer, and yet oddly happy, because, well, my university is lovely.

(And today I really wanted to talk about the awesome that is Being Human and the comfort food that is Star Trek, but instead, have more of my crazy!)

Why won't it stop raining? I'm fine with rain when I'm at work (it means I get paid to clean and stock sweets and, when it's very slow, read, which is much more fun than customers), but we're entering week two of almost constant rain with occasional glimpses of sun, and it's rather dispiriting. Whatever happened to summer?

Still plodding along here, writing and thinking about my dissertation and having a quiet and non-remarkable summer. The only thing that's bad about it is that it flies past - not helped by the odd sleeping pattern Gem and I have got ourselves into. Mine's worse to be honest - get up at ten, go to be at twelve with Gem, read until three in the morning. I keeping trying to plan my dissertation at two am, never a good idea. It keeps shifting, unruly. I need to pick up A Home at the End of the World soon, since all my ideas loop and hinge on coming of age themes and possibly alternative families. More conventional than I'd hoped, less abstract, but workable and fun and a chance to talk about sexuality and narrators.

R went home yesterday. She's moving to France next year, so it was a proper move home. I miss her already - the house is quiet and a little bit lonely without her.

Also weirding myself out by writing a quasi-steampunk young adult's story, which is completely out of character for me. I'm not quite sure I have the ability, but so far it's coming along quite well. I have seven doodles of an airship in my notebook and I can't draw. I'm taking this as a good sign.

I can't believe I'm going home in a couple of days. It feels surreal.

1. Yesterday, Bean and I went to her minister's for dinner and ended up having a huge discussion about feminism, Christianity and gay rights and it was absolutely amazing. I haven't felt so challenged and engaged in ages. I felt like I was able to make coherent points, I felt that Bean and I were able to compliment each other in the discussion, and the people we were debating with actually listened - and I listened to them, which. It was weird and I went home and kept thinking about what we were talking about. I felt smart and intrigued and like I wanted to learn more about what we'd been talking about.

Here's my question, then: why don't I feel that way about my degree programme?

2. Last night I had my first stress-sleep. I kept waking up, thinking I had to be somewhere, or that I hadn't completed something, or that I'd forgotten to study something.

I have thirteen days until my first exam. If this continues until then, I will actually go insane before I even reach my exams.

3. Our dissertation lists are up and my supervisor is possibly the person in the department I have the least affinity for. I don't dislike her, I just don't get along with her. She's my personal tutor as well, and I cannot communicate with her; she was no help at all trying to decide the title of my dissertation. Thanks a bunch, Department! If you could maybe see fit to change my exam dates to a week earlier, that'd just be peachy!

*hates*

4. In news, completely unrelated to my academic career: Keith Olbermann owns my soul. Bush is horrible on levels I can't quite comprehend, but Keith Olbermann's smackdown is a joy to behold.

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.

So, I'm kind of madly happy. I'm not entirely sure why, either, particularly because I've had moments of extreme malaise and worry about exams and my future during today, but it sort of passed during Medieval Lit (though I still say a lecture at 5 till 6 is unreasonably late), stuck between Becca and Phil and making stupid comments and jokes about religion (University: if you can't make fun of it, it ain't worth studying). Which is awesome, since it means that now I'm here, sleepy and quite content. Mmmmm. Even though I am vaguely missing Gemma, who's gone home for two days. It's not too bad, though, sort of a comfortable ache.

I mean, I'm still worried about my grades (which I don't get until next week and, I just - I've never felt so badly after an exam, and it's not really a comfortable feeling) and my thesis (because it's soon, really soon now, and I'm still not entirely sure what I want to write about: Fairytales and the Creation of Identity in The Book of Lost Things, The Function of the Fictional in The Book of the Duchess or something completely different, maybe to do with gender. And it's the fact that I don't feel like there's anyone in the faculty I could really go to to get help with this that's annoying me most of all, I think) and I still don't feel like I'm keeping up as well as I should be - I kind of feel like everyone else has a lot more terminology than me, or at least, it comes easier to them than it does to me, which is frustrating, particularly because I could be doing more work and I'm sort of...not.

Still, fuck it, I'm happy. I've got friends and Critical Theory and will quite possibly be able to do gender studies for my second Restoration essay, which would just be plain awesome.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a short story called 'The Storyteller', which I actually quite like. And now there's a creative writing competition at University and I am tempted. Very tempted. On the other hand, I am very awkward about showing something I like that isn't fandom related to anyone. Particularly this story, which is the first thing I've written since this summer and is , well, important to me. Also, I'm not sure it doesn't need editing, but I'm kind of sensitive about it - I don't really want someone to rip it apart. Dilemma.

Speaking of writing, I have about 1000 words of English Department fic, except it has completely departed the world of RPF and entered the world of original fiction (which is both exciting and odd) and also it is present tense. Which is...freaky. I'll probably end up changing it. Mostly I'm just kind of surprised I'm writing. It's both nice and frustrating because, well, as I was talking to Sofie about when she was here, I don't really think of myself as a writer. I think of myself as an academic writer (to a certain degree, anyway), but not a fiction writer. And yet, now it's as if something is working and I'm writing - not all the time, but sometimes. It's very strange.

It's also frustrating, because guess who hasn't started on her Restoration passage analysis yet? Oh, that would be me! (And it's due in in two weeks, why do I do this to myself?)

Oh! Finally, may I highly recommend Company of Liars? I got it from Gemma for our anniversary and it hooked me; it's about a band of travellers during the first year of the plague - a trader in sacred relics, a couple on the run, a deformed storyteller, a magician, two musicians, a healer and little girl who tells runes. It manages to be both a riveting, creepy story as well as interesting on a human level; the characters are compelling, the history well-researched and worked into the text (none of that exposition blather) and captures the sense of fear that the plague must have evoked believably. It's just really, really good and has an excellent narrative voice and a really awesome twist at the end. Very, very much recommended.

And now I should probably go to bed, so I am well-rested for tomorrow's day o'Torchwood. Mmm.

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.

Gemma went home this morning. I'm going home tomorrow. Becca, Cathrine, Roisin and Ros have all gone home already. I guess it's the end of 2007.

I'm not even remotely packed, it's a little ridiculous. I haven't even emptied out my backpack, and my bus leaves at 10.15 tomorrow. But I kind of can't deal with the idea that I don't have to pack up my entire life into little (well, huge) boxes and store it somewhere while I'm back in Denmark. It's like realizing I've moved away from home all over again, except weirder still, because I've not just moved out, but I've really moved in somewhere as well. This is my room - it's not just some room where I store my stuff, it's *mine*. No one else will be in it over Christmas - nothing will be touched.

I have a room. I have a home. I'm not sure I can deal with this - I'm not sure I can be this grown-up. Actually, this whole year, looking back, has been about becoming a grown-up in a multitude of ways and hi, I'm the girl who's at university so she doesn't have to grow-up! I am a shining example of a peter pan complex in academia, so how does it work that I suddenly have a home and a job and bills and a girlfriend and a group of friends and I cook for myself and can host a dinner party and this year is messing with my head.

And the thing is, the worst, stupidest, silliest thing is that I like it. I mean, obviously not the bills and not really work, but I like the other things. I like that I have this weird, lovely, happy, silly, romantic relationship which needs work, sure, but just *happens*; I like that I can cook and clean and competently take care of myself; I like that I can finance my own life almost - I hardly need economic support from my family; I like that I can talk to people - to my housemates, to my coursemates. I like that I have this whole life, this weird, stressful, grown-up, silly life, these days that rush by me and leave me content. It's weird and frightening and so good. Like, maybe I can do this.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to further procrastinate on my packing.


ETA: I just went to close my window and saw Tom and Tamsyn kissing in the kitchen with Chris cuddled up on the couch with his Wii. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I love this house.

My renaissance literature presentation is done! Which means, baring the actual presentation tomorrow, all my work for this term is done! Man, all I want to do is just curl up against Gemma and sleep until, like, Friday, but real life and going to dinner at Ros's tonight, so. Can't. Still. Want.

Remember The Book Thief? I don't know if I made it clear at the time, but reading it was such an experience. Nick Hornby talks about how some books are just *you*, even if they're not about your experiences, or emotions, or anything like that - you just recognize them, somehow, like they were written for you. And that's how I feel about The Book Thief, perhaps more than any other book I've ever read. But if The Book Thief and I connect on a very emotional, very instinctive level, then The Book of Lost Things and I are all about the English Student in me. Ever since I finished it, I can't stop thinking about it - not because it resonated emotionally with me, perhaps, and definitely not because of the prose - it was at times distinctly awkward and clumsy - but because of the use of folk tales and superstitions surrounding books and the physcological angle matching up with that of folk tales and meta-storytelling and its treatment of adolescent sexuality and gender, and the ideas of crossing worlds and the use of symbols and man. I love this book, and it's not even that good, but it is fascinating and it *works* for me on a academic level like nothing I've read for a while has.

The only real problem is that now I want to start doing background reading for it, because if at all possible this is my thesis: folk tales and storytelling in The Book of Lost Things. I just want to hole myself up with Villy Sørensen and my copy of Grimm's Fairytales and just work it all out in my head. GAH!

But, of course, I can't. Because I still haven't memorized all my Old English verb and adjective conjugations and that exams is only two months away (maybe less, HELP!).

Today has been made from so much win, I can barely contain my glee. You know those days when you just feel good; your lectures are fun, one of your lecturers implies that you - by virtue of being gap-toothed - are lusty and lavicious and otherwise is basically Eddie Izzard teaching Chaucer, the other lecturer makes Milton funny and implies that God and Jesus created the Holy Spirit through MPreg, you suddenly seem to have acquired friends, you actually understand and are interested in what you're doing, there's a kitten in your final lecture, and you end the day with a twenty minute long chat with your very awesome Old English seminar tutor who is SUCH A KITTEN and has a mohawk and blushes when you say he's awesome?

Yeah. That would be my day. Becca and I induced giggling fits in each other twice, Gemma and I held hands through renaissance lit, my Old English tutor called me and Becca 'clever' and offered to be my honorary personal tutor and I may have had a brilliant flash of inspiration with regards to my renlit essay. And I bought Nicholas Royle and Andrew Bennett's introduction to criticism and theory in the 3rd edition, which is still the most amazing thing ever.

These are the days I live for.

My god, ladies, I am back online!

Hurrah!

(Also - Eight months. Eight months. I'm scared, but so damn happy!)