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Wednesday, 30 January 2013


I wore a dress to university today. This morning I woke up, decided I'd try not washing my hair (though I didn't wash it yesterday) and thought I was late waking up to leave, so I showered in a hurry and felt like wearing a dress... so I did. And I wore the dress I bought not long before leaving, the one that made me happy. The one that makes me happy. I fixed myself breakfast and ate it while I packed lunch for today. I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair and put it into a fishtail braid, put on some perfume (to hide, though not too well, the smell of my less than squeaky clean hair) and made my way out to leave. Aunt A stopped me before we got out. She prefaced a tantrum/reprimand by telling me she knew I think she's all kinds of harsher words than "dumb" for worrying but my going to university wearing that dress, more specifically because I take the bus to get there, was unacceptable because there are evil people in this world and today will be the day that I'll be raped and murdered because I chose to wear a pretty dress. 

I said "thank you for your advice but I will go on and choose not to worry" because that's exactly what I want to do. I want to not worry about all the things she worries about. I don't want to feed the idea that anyone's clothes beg for rape because I wore the dress for me and so I believe most people choose their clothes for themselves. I'll write this later, I have to go to class and I don't have a lot of battery to begin with. 

I'll borrow from the rant I wrote down in my notebook.

It's bigger than "I don't want to worry about the million things she worries about." It's bigger than "the news increase perception of crime no matter what the real (and actually declining) crime rates are." It's more along the lines of "My clothes are not an invitation to rape. No one's clothes are." Do you think rapists are awfully reasonable people? Are there any hard and fast rules regarding what constitutes "rape me!" to such sick minds? I don't think so! So I can either forever fear the unreasonable or embrace the fact that the probabilities are minuscule and carry on. I'm actually quite sure I read somewhere that women are no more or less likely to get raped or called names or otherwise sexually abused when they wear certain clothes. Women who wear oversized sweaters and baggy pants get raped too. It's not in a woman's choices but in the wicked mind of the rapist that the true reasons for "why her" lie. Goodness forbid it ever happen, but should an evil man rape me, it won't be my fault for wearing whatever I chose to wear that day. It will be his fault for being evil. 

When I sat down in the bus stop to wait for the bus I sat next to an older woman and greeted her good morning. She complimented my dress and I thanked her. That's how I planned to go about my day. The worst I had to worry about when thinking of wearing a dress was getting it smelly like the jeans from a couple of weeks ago and I've also decided that the chances of that happening again are small enough that I can overlook them for the sake of being happy. I haven't received half as many stares as I may have half-feared I would (I don't like to be stared at, no matter what I wear). If anything, I noticed men who would stare didn't on purpose, which is to say they noticed me and then politely chose not to gawk. In a whole day of walking past very many people, only one man had the nerve to point out the dress to me and stare rudely, but it ended with a "nice dress" as he walked past me and it was over. 

I will go about my day, thank you very much. I quite like my dress and I feel like being in a good mood while it lasts (because I really am a little behind in finishing homework assignments... and I stopped working 3/10 through the statics homework to finish writing this post). 

So... teenage rebellion is catching up with me and I'm a very late bloomer. It's a bit depressing, when you see it that way, that my acts of rebellion consist of recycling cans and wearing a pretty dress. 

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

A tall story

First of all, I have a bit of a confession to make. I have three homework assignments due in on Thursday and Friday and I have done nothing to even get started on them. 

Woke up extra-early so aunt A could give me a ride to university after her doctor's appointment. Nothing too horrible there, except for the tragic aftertaste of everything aunt A tells. "Did you know cousin S held the job of director? The job is cursed: one of the men who had the job went mad and another was killed for having an affair with some woman." *sigh* I may have been a bit too eager to get out of the car as soon as possible when she dropped me off.

Come the afternoon, I only just managed to get on the earlier bus leaving the university area. As usual, I called aunt A to let her know I was on my way. She didn't pick up. I left her a text message and figured she'd get back to me soon enough. I arrived and still hadn't heard from her so I called her again. She didn't pick up, again. So I left her another text message telling her I was walking and walked with my phone in my hand, in the off chance that she decided to try to reach me. I made it all the way to the house and was greeted with surprise. "You're here! And here I was waiting for you to call!" Mind you, once before she made a spectacle when I failed to call her when she thought I would and worried herself (and everyone she could) thinking I'd somehow gotten kidnapped/raped/stabbed/or-else. Had she been waiting for my call it might have crossed her mind to check her phone, at any point during the almost two hours it took me to go from getting on the bus to opening the door. 

She acted sorry and told me she just hadn't heard the phone, that perhaps LC4 was playing with it when I called and he didn't pass on the message (not possible, the timeline doesn't work). She came into my room telling me she'd checked to see if the phone was set to "silent" but it wasn't and offered that she maybe missed the call because she left her phone in the car when she was picking LC4 up from school (again, not possible because of the timeline). She came into my room again a while later to tell me she'd definitely left her phone silent and had just not noticed it the last time she checked. She then said it was on me for not calling everyone else I know to tell them to call her (which you might be thinking is a flawed argument). How do you suppose she got in touch with BCM to arrange for LC4's pick up? Am I to understand that, though it was certainly not silent when we were driving to the doctor's office and she may or may not have silenced it to go in, she managed to go for a whole day missing only my calls?

She went on to tell this story about leaving the phone set to vibrate to uncle A and then BCM (and possibly aunt MT) to "make it stick." Why, I do believe she believes it herself, to some extent. You can probably guess from my tone that I don't and that,  no matter how Zen I was about walking in uncomfortable shoes for 50min and having blisters in my feet, I'm taking the time to call it a tall story. Even if only a deaf and blind blog can know of it. 

The only thing I got out of the walk was the lipstick I wanted to wear last Friday and now have no real use for but wanted to have anyway. So I wasted a little money, to make things worse. 

The thing about aunt A is that she's a terrible liar. In that being a liar is terrible, but also in the fact that she's very bad at hiding the fact that she's lying. She's too insistent on making her version of the facts stick, her stories are not consistent, her behaviour does not quite add up with the stories she tells and she's too quick to offer alternate (and equally fanciful) explanations whenever her first choice is shown to be a stupid one. One example? Not driving to another city for a baby shower. She was invited, she knew about it a long time in advance. She knew BCM was going and didn't think to go with her. Instead she asked when this reunion was to take place and said it was on the same weekend as Wicked, so she couldn't make it (cousin S was there when she said this and called her out on it). I don't know what other bogus excuse she came up with later but she didn't go. I know you allegedly get worse at telling lies over time, but I'm not shaking off the feeling that aunt A was deliberately horrible to me today, even if I have no hard proof and only a string of inconsistencies to back up my claim. Call my paranoia a tall story if you like. I won't say anything of it.

The song playing in the back of my head is Michael Jackson's "Childhood."

Monday, 28 January 2013

Silly me

I can't fucking afford to forget exam dates or, as was the case today, to not fucking look them up in the first place. I had the good sense, when our professor sent us an e-mail with "shit to look at to study" to tell myself to study... I then completely failed to do so. Obviously. Otherwise I couldn't be here writing about how I thought I'd be right on time for our somewhat tardy but lovely and quirky professor only to walk into an exam. I wondered if I hadn't perhaps walked into the wrong classroom until I recognised some of my classmates and realised how screwed I was. I did not study one. bit. That's how bad it probably is. Unlike high school chemistry, circuits are not that easy. While I could answer a few questions trying to make sense of what precious little I remembered of the lectures, others I had to guess and others I had no idea how to guess. 

The song in my head (and I won't look up the proper name just now, or ever) goes "I'm getting married in the morning... Ding-dong, the bells are gonna chime!" from My Fair Lady.

[7:57pm edit]
When we arrived, after stopping for gas, I noticed aunt A had left the elevator music telly on and exactly "Wouldn't it be loverly" was playing. Curious, isn't it?

Now, what I wanted to write about, that deserved coming back to this post exactly (and curiously enough not another post... which may or may not make me and you think twice about the title I chose for this one) is something else entirely.

It will come as no surprise to anyone reading this that I've been thinking of LesMisGuy a lot recently. Oddly enough, the name I whisper out and call in my head is SmTn's. Let me elaborate. I started out this fantasy where I go back to Bta and I go out one night with EBF and AOB only to run into LesMisGuy. Whatever turn of events leads to us being alone, talking, is irrelevant. What's important to me is that we meet and we talk, about feelings and namely how he hurt mine I hurt mine mine got hurt. In my fantasy he would, of course, want to get together. He would at least try to hold my hands and kiss me. I ended up stuck thinking of what exactly made me hold him back when his hand made its way up my thigh. It was instinct, and if I had to reason with it now I'll go back to what I've said before: there was no contract to guarantee that he had any feelings for me and that the kiss, or any other intimate event that ensued from kissing, meant anything to him. I suppose I expected him to say something, or I didn't expect anything beyond kissing until a later date. 

The fantasy of meeting LesMisGuy evolved. Call me weird, because I don't suppose anyone else creates such horrid fantasies: I came up with a crazy plot where, for reality television (who else would want this?), I'm set up to appear in a place where D, LesMisGuy and SmTn are. I'm inevitably drawn to SmTn, worried about what they told him to make him come and glad that there's a friendly face to be seen in that awkward reunion. To be honest, I don't know how I'd react if I were ever to see D or LesMisGuy again. I can anticipate my heart would race and a thousand and one thoughts would fly through my mind. I would inevitably blush and become flustered. I might even feel weak at the knees. I can't guarantee any of that won't happen with SmTn, but the reaction seeing LesMisGuy or D would not be over at that. I'd very quickly start feeling very, exceedingly stupid and I'd want to disappear. In spite of all that, the thought of SmTn makes me smile.

That silly reunion I just made up is not so far-fetched when you consider that's exactly what's going on in my mind. That probably explains why I call out SmTn's name even when I'm thinking of LesMisGuy. SmTn is my friendly face.

Ms. Nobody

That's what it all adds up to.

I had this dream I was too lazy to record a couple of days ago. The only thing worth noting about it is that the old man's father was alive and his mother dead (I presume). We had not visited my grandfather in a very long time for reasons unknown to me. Aunt LM had been to his place, though, and set him up with salsa music because he was supposed to be very fond of it (nothing rings a bell about this). The whole interaction was limited to a phone call, but I somehow got a glimpse at what he looked like (that much older, that much sicker than I ever saw him). 

Last night my dreams featured LesMisGuy. There was a complicated plotline I no longer remember... something involving angels or other superior creatures, a bad guy and something about the end of the world (maybe not this last part). I remember a lot of the people from the maths department were there and we had to feed tributes into this snake-like thing. We fed it valuables and it pooped out something else (of less value) and we had to somehow satiate it. NtP fed it a gaming console, which was a huge sacrifice for him. It was my turn after him and the controller was left out so I knelt down, trying to show some sense of decorum, and attempted to put it in. I know it was a fake sense of decorum, the same respect I show in church for the sake of the others, not really being too sure that it's necessary to behave a certain way just because I'm in the house of a collective hallucination. 

My point is that LesMisGuy was there. And it was awkward. But I wanted to see him, even if it was incredibly hard to just be near him and want to run away. I almost drifted into a dream where we got a chance to be closer together, maybe dance (I know). 

There was a dream in there somewhere about my statics class and the instructor was collecting homework assignments. It took place in a classroom like the ones from school1. It was a pain. 

I couldn't sleep anymore because I had a now characteristic anxiety attack about everything and I just couldn't relax enough to shut eye for a little longer. I've avoided going to the kitchen until I was done writing this post and I suppose I'm now out of excuses... 

Remind me to say something about Swoozie and the not-really-epiphany I had about LesMisGuy. Or not.

Saturday, 26 January 2013


It's one of those days again when thanks are in order. We were out last night to watch Wicked and it was wonderful (saying it was wicked would be cliché). I may have even gotten a bit teary-eyed when I was overcome with awe a few times. I'm afraid I can't make a fuller review because before going to the musical I had class and that brought up... well, why don't I just write it down for you?

It started last Friday, officially (and unofficially, since I didn't write about it) where I glimpsed at the possibility that the teaching assistant was a little cute. It happened again today, except there was more to it. You see there was a tiny problem where he forgot to put in my grade for the first homework assignment, so I let him know about it... and there was also the issue of "how late were we going to be" and how I was going to make that work with whatever plans aunt A had to go to the theatre. So I mentioned my grade was missing and asked how long the class would be because I had to be someplace (we'll call this place x) around 7pm. He asked if I didn't need to go to y and mentioned I had tickets to go watch Wicked because... why not? He said a friend of his had seen it on Thursday. Now, let me examine the following list of events: he mentioned living in y (which gave me a hunch: did he almost offer to give me a ride?), he cut the class a little short and told me to have fun when the class was over. 

As things like this usually go with me, you can guess I sat there thinking too much about it, wondering just how cute he really was and picturing what it might be like to be with him (no matter how hard I try the answer is: boring). I was tempted to ask CtThumbe if she found trouble with me developing this crush, however small, with a figure of authority. I couldn't because I had no WiFi reception where I stood waiting for cousin S. 

First thing I looked up in the computer when I got back was Billy Harrigan Tighe because I hadn't seen his face and was tempted by this masculin-er version of Eddie Redmayne. I remembered that I couldn't remember the assistant's face and figured I might cyber stalk him only a little. One of the first search results hit a foundation of some sort, another led to a news story about criminals. You know where this is going: there was a picture of him in the latter and I'll. be. damned. He had 11 charges against him for possession of and intent to sell a lot of different drugs. And here I thought the most prejudice I'd find against him lay in how much of an engineer he is (yes, I do have a prejudice against engineers, deal with it or teach them how to think independently).

Forget about that moment today in class... I'm staying away from him. Thank Google for Google.

Thursday, 24 January 2013

Goodness... whatever happened to happy dreams?

I had a restless night last night. I went to sleep relatively early but I kept waking up, worried that it was time for me to get up even though it wasn't and I already had an alarm on. I worried because I would not get enough rest if I kept waking up and I would be an absolute zombie. I had two not so nice dreams.

The dream I woke up to involved an older man who had been in the military. Since I don't know if he was in any war I don't know if he was officially a veteran, but we can assume for practical purposes that he was because there was a certain degree of solemnity and authority to whatever his status was. At any rate, there was this respectable old man who had served time and he was standing in the rain with me and another man. We were together, standing against a group of three punks (sorry for the old-man words, but it's what he'd call them and it's what best describes them) who were trying to pick a fight. Part of fighting was them twirling umbrellas in our general direction, which made a very cold, horizontal rain pour on us. I worried about the old man's health but he stood his ground quite calmly until he decided he'd had enough. That's when he walked right at the youngsters and past them, through a door right behind them. The door led to the salon of some sort of club, somehow related to the military, and it was relatively busy. The old man walked in and said he was firing the three punks from before, implying a number of things. It implied the old man had authority, somehow related to his seniority, to take all recognition from the young men. It implied that there was a recognition to be stripped in the first place, meaning they must have been in the military too. It was humiliating for the youngsters and I'm surprised they never thought this was a possible outcome of their attitude. They begged and put on a tantrum, as if being fired (I'm not sure why I chose that word, but it's the one used in the dream) were too great a disgrace. This is where I woke up.

The other dream evoked Cinderella. Cinderella was sometimes me, sometimes a girl not unlike Sarah Jessica Parker, and she was married and had a child. She lived in a house with a not very pleasant middle aged woman who was evil. How do I know she was evil? She visited Cinderella in an apparently harmless chit-chatty expedition and used the opportunity to burn the house down. This woman wanted to kill Cinderella and her family and make it look like an accident, except they survived. Cinderella couldn't wrap her head around this woman being so evil, and a black woman, friends of Cinderella, pointed out to Cinderella it was fortunate her husband had a good job. Cinderella couldn't get over the fact that she had just lost everything and her husband's job was not even starting to make up for the fact that she had no home to come back to, no clothes. The woman came by later, pretending not to have anything to do with the whole thing and asking about one of the items lost in the fire (maybe clothes?). Cinderella hated her lies and her shamelessness, amazed at how this woman could burn a house down hoping to kill three people and then pretend she didn't do it. 

Tuesday, 22 January 2013

Somewhat random assortment of a day

I thought I had little to write about, but thinks keep piling on.

First thought in my head when I woke up was the faint memory of a dream where I found a bug camera hidden in a lamp in my room that uncle A was using to spy on me. So there's that...

I had three classes today. During the first class I thought of SmTn. I had naughty thoughts, I must confess. I had this fantasy in my head of meeting him (preferably at another summer school), and having a "moment." The moment would lead to him asking for permission to do something silly, and we'd agree to a kiss, a single kiss. And we'd make it count with a long, sweet, unnaturally natural and comfortable, sweet and passionate kiss. There would even be a standing ovation... Oh well. Funnily enough, when the class was over I was still going over these thoughts when SmTn left me a message I failed to notice for another two hours. I'd forgotten I was logged in to Skype on a tablet and I regretted not being there for him until I was done with classes for the day... *sigh*

Second class of the day, I was still thinking about this fantasy kiss when a sudden flash memory assaulted me. I'm not 100% sure it was him, but I think it was LesMisGuy because I had the vague notion that we were re-doing everything from "that fateful night" again, "the right way." By now, the obvious question is "how did it go, the right way?" and the answer is: he touched me. 

As I waited for aunt A to pick me up from the bus stop, the song stuck in my head was "All I care about" from Chicago

It would seem insignificant, but I think it's a little poetic, in retrospect. When uncle A talked about... whatever during dinner, the song in my head was "Jolly Holiday" from Mary Poppins

There was a minor not-episode where aunt A called the hair salon to make an appointment... for herself, and she asked what time I had class that day to see  if she could make it. It really gets to me, you know, the empty promises... Mum said nothing about it when I mentioned aunt A would drop me off early to go  to the hairdresser's and there was no mention of an appointment for me... 

While we're here, let me mention that with some advice from mum I ordered aunt A a birthday present. I don't know if she'll use it (same is true of her Christmas present), but I know it's a good present, as it's something she's mentioned looking forward to having. Not exactly related is the fact that aunt A said uncle A wants me to tidy up my room a little. No comment on that, it is a mess and it is their place but there's a but.

On to me doing the laundry, which took most of today's afternoon and night combined. For the first time this year, and without any mention of a happy new year as you'd think might be appropriate since that's the last I wrote him... EBF talked to me. He had this pitch... So bloody thoughtful of him. He said "You know how you want to study maths and need money? I got a solution to all your problems!" You'd think he'd know better, because such a statement will make anyone sceptical but he went on. "Do you know about *another word for pyramid schemes*?" Oh, it was rich...  I was upset. On the one hand, I would sooner get my money via a sugar daddy, as it's that much easier to sell just the one thing (myself) to a single  person. As the instructor I'm none-too-fond-of pointed out, the university I'm now in is huge in sugar babies. Awesome. On the other... I'm less insulted by the instructor's suggestion than I am by EBF's: I could expect that sort of shit from the instructor, I would not have expected EBF to try to scam me. I was so mad at him for choosing me that I deliberately let him go ahead with it and waste his time selling his pitch even though I knew from the start it was a no-no for me.

He asked for my Skype username and called me so that he could talk me through a presentation about the company and used what I can only guess was a script made from his notes on the subject. It was frankly quite horrible. The whole thing is designed so you only get money if you get lots of other people beneath you to make money and you can only cash the money out if you follow a very strict set of rules and procedures which make things needlessly complicated. There's no such thing as easy money, and they said it themselves, but that's exactly what they're trying to sell and I can't help but see what EBF described as "See? They're never running out of business! It means you can keep cashing in on this and count on it two, maybe three years from now!" as "Oh, they're smart. They won't really give you as much money as you think you'll get. They have to make money somehow!"

While a call cut off and I went to fold the clothes I had in the dryer the song that came to mind was an ironic "Loving You" by Minnie Ripperton, which I haven't listened to in years

I came back and let him finish his pitch, answering with little more than "okay" to most everything he said. To make matters worse he tried to make small talk in the end. We never fucking talk. He was so drunk he didn't remember I wished him a merry Christmas, he didn't bother wishing me a happy new year, the only reason he talks to me is to scam me... and he wants to chit chat about my life? About AOB? About anything? I'm more than a little insulted by the fact that he failed to pick up on my defensiveness, my sarcasm, my silences and my quiet scoffs and I'm outraged if he went on in spite of them. It really is too much.

I am interrupting my post-post internet browsing to bring you a special rant announcement. Aunt A doesn't understand science. (Uncle A only pretends to, but we won't go there right now). She's cold, because it's cold outside. She reasons it's got something to do with the thermostat settings. Now, every so often uncle A will set it to only cool or only heat though it's much more reasonable to just leave the damned thing working a range: it won't get too cold or too hot that way. However, it will inevitably come to a point where no one thinks of turning the air conditioning on though it's uncomfortably warm in the house... instead, they set the heating temperature lower (which is, of course, useless). Same goes for cold. 

Now, I left it working on a range, a bit on the warmer side,  against my personal preferences. Uncle A set it down one degree Fahrenheit (which is: not an awful lot, but he also narrowed down the range). Fine. I could have pretended to be asleep, I was soon going to turn off the lights anyway... but aunt A knocks on the door and tells me she's cold. I adjust the thermostat by one degree (that's all it took for it to turn the heat on, the house temperature wasn't that low) and tell her I've fixed it. She asks why we don't leave one of the usual (not-really-functional) settings and I explain how the range setting works, and that there's always a variation in temperatures. It's not like leaving "heat: xº" will keep the house at exactly xº. I tell her my room doesn't feel exceedingly cold (though I keep the window open so it will be colder) and offer she might not want to sit in the living room. I elaborated explaining that the high ceiling means there's all the more space for the warm air to rise, leaving her in the cold. I insist the range isn't one you'd notice. A degree or two Fahrenheit don't make a huge difference. She does not understand science. Let me say that again: aunt A does not understand science. She left mad, saying she'll have to take it to uncle A, ask about the settings and why I'm making the house so that she is cold and miserable. 

*Nazgûl shriek*

Monday, 21 January 2013

It's probably just me

Not at all fun fact about me: I hate screwing up. I get exceedingly upset when I fuck up. So-fucked-up-it's-comical fact about me: upon screwing up, I will more often than not proceed to worsen the fuck up while attempting to fix it. 


 - Stretch a violin/guitar string. Attempt to tighten the coil (impossible by hand) and stretch an even larger section, ruining even more of the string
 - Over time, open the wire clasp that held a notebook neatly together. Attempt to clasp it shut with a cuticle cutter, not solving the wire problem and instead ruining the cuticle cutter. Attempt to fix cuticle cutter by applying a steady "smoothing" force to undo the unseemly bend at the tip and instead make horrible dents on the desk.
 - Forget a not-completely-dry-of-acetone piece of cotton on a varnished wooden desk (see above). Pick up mess on desk to start working on homework assignment and find new damage on the desk in form of a hole in the varnish. Attempt to smooth it over with nail polish thinner but instead make the hole bigger. Dissolve the varnish around a larger area "to have more varnish to smooth over" effectively ruining an even larger area. Attempt to make the whole desk's surface uneven and fail miserably. Realise only too late that the initial fuck up could have been disguised with a Sharpie. Realise two hours (maybe more) into the whole process that I put off studying for two fucking hours (at least) by trying to study.

Yes, that's exactly like me. It was all I could do to finish 6/10 problems due in tomorrow before writing about the whole thing in the blog.

Sunday, 20 January 2013


I had a nightmare last night. Might be retaliation for saying I don't want to watch Criminal Minds, it was certainly a very twisted plot.

In my nightmare, there were two serial killers. One of them was learning from the other, learning to kill and enjoy it. The other, an older man, was "friends" with a bear/tiger (it was sometimes one, sometimes the other in my dream) and I have the sneaking suspicion that it was involved in the murders too. They had gotten together to kill a young woman. The apprentice did it, and in the process he killed and butchered the bear/tiger. He came out of the whole thing saying he'd enjoyed the second kill more than the first. It was very gruesome  and upsetting: the sort of dream that leaves me wondering which way of lying in bed makes me more or less vulnerable to a serial killer waiting to hurt me in the dark (the answer is: none). I woke up from this dream into another dream where I wrote about it (in fuller detail than I can manage now). After that I woke up and helped aunt A put away the Christmas tree. That was that.

Thanks, old man

After lunch today cousin S surprised me by recording me on video with a huge box in his hand. Turns out the old man went out and got me a new little computer for my birthday and I got my present a month early. There's much to be said of how considerate it was of him to get me a computer I didn't ask for, but having all the qualities I'd ask for (except the unattainable and impractical neanderthal ones, like running on Windows XP). All he needed to know is that my old little computer is old (though it still works and it's the one I'm typing on right now) and that the not-so-new computer cousin S gave me has a no-longer-functional battery. He asked about what I'd look for in a new laptop and found a nice match. It's in the title, but I have to say it again: thanks, old man. Thanks, mum and sis, for working so that money can stretch enough to break off in the form of a new computer for me. 

In other news, little too has arrived chez mes parents. Aunt MT and I were right: she's a sweet, contemplative love. If all goes well I might meet her around Christmas and I won't have to deal with the mixed feelings of betrayal and "puppy!" until then. 

Unrelated, Criminal Minds.

I'd given up on the show. I gave up because they were inconsistent about A. J. Cook, I gave up because they got rid of Paget Brewster, I gave up because the stories started sounding ever less smartly designed. It got a bit too Hollywood. I gave in to watching the show again in a moment of desperate procrastination where I just needed something to watch to numb myself and I was out of YouTube videos. I was disappointed by Prentiss' replacement. I let it go, because I understand she's not as bad a replacement as the blonde they got to replace JJ.  After Reid's mystery woman was introduced, I kept watching because I wanted the story to unravel and I wanted to see the happy ending. I need to say that failed spectacularly. After some internet digging, it appears the tragic finale was done on purpose. The writers wanted to piss me off, they wanted me to suffer. Mission accomplished. I'm not watching the show again. If Reid can't get a happy ending, ever, I refuse to watch him break down over the next few episodes. I don't care what comes of it. I respect Matthew Gray Gubler's belief that if Reid was going to have such a side story it had to end in tragedy, but I won't torture myself watching any more of the show now that things played out that way. 

Reid has nothing except brains going for him, and they make a point out of proving how it's not quite enough. When intelligence is all you have working for you and you're as likely as everyone else to be screwed over by the universe, too much has gone wrong. Tell me there's a nice way to look at that and not be depressed by the though of how little intelligence is valued. In the new world I'm in, German doesn't evoke a "Hey, look! almost all mathematicians know a little of it!". Speaking several languages, on par with not watching television, is right up there in the list of things you don't take seriously and make fun of. I. will. be. damned. I look to television as a fantasy I can escape to. if my favourite characters' plotlines don't work out. I can't watch if there's no happy ending.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Second chances and second choices

I had this dream last night. I've all but forgotten it by now... LesMisGuy was here, sort of the way AOB was here, and we were going out. On a date. A date-date. A second date-date. I know/knew it was a date because I know/knew we were going to kiss and all I had to do was wait for the right time for it to happen. We were going to the cinema. I know it was a second date and I'm now no longer sure why, but I know he'd given me a second chance (drilling in the idea that it was my screw up that kept him from wanting anything to do with me ever again). I knew, however, that it would go well and that it was certain we'd kiss. Alas! I did not dream to dream the kiss...

In another dream I was waiting in line by the café near the maths department when I ran into ThPr. I'm now speculating, but I think I went through every awkward thought involved with asking him tow write the recommendation letter I still haven't asked him to write again. I suppose my anxiety (and procrastination) are projecting onto my dreams. That would explain why I dreamt that I could send presents for my family with uncle C and that my uncle would somehow be able to deliver them. No evidence of anything of the sort in real life. I might have to wait for him to come all the way here. Just in case, though, I bought the old man a chef's torch so I'd have a gift for each one (lipstick for mum, shirt for my sister). I suppose neither will go bad while I wait to send them over.

As for LesMisGuy being a projection... well... er... I suppose the whole thing was very disappointing.

[noon edit]
Mad a royal fool of myself that I did. I actually stopped writing to check if I was making a bigger fool of myself in the near future. Don't know if it will come to that. The story...? The story:

I chose a seat in class closer to the board and smack in the middle of the row. Next to me (my left, in case it's important... which it isn't) a young man sat down. We were supposed to hand in a homework assignment and he started a conversation.
 - Did you do the homework?
 - Yes.
 - All of it?
 - All of it. I'm not sure I got all the answers correct, though.
 - Did you do number n?
 - Yes. Want to look at it? Here it is. You still have time to fill yours in.
 - What's that? A constant?
 - Yes... No. Wait, it's the units.
 - Oh, thanks.

A while later he asked my name and gave me his (which I didn't hear, nor really listen to) He gave me his card and told me he works as a musician playing live in private parties. I won't judge him for that entrance because, like I said, I'm humbled by my foolishness. Well into the class I was quite literally bored out of my mind and after doing a few "useful" things (download class documents) I gave in  to check xkcd comics. He asked about them and asked if they were jokes. I pointed out they were nerd comics and offered he could look through the website. He (quite rightly) said I should listen to the professor and pay attention to the class, which I inexplicably used as a cue to whine about how slow the classes are and how I saw this years ago and expected everyone else had too. 

Fast forward to a problem being solved on the board and his quick solution to a tiny dead easy step. He told me what the answer was while I stared into space thinking of nothing.. I agreed with him.. He realised he was wrong and rectified his answer. I agreed with him again. I very quickly felt very silly and full of it. There went my first chance at making an acquaintance, methinks. We'll see if he seeks me out again, but it seems bloody unlikely. I wouldn't want to talk to me again. What is my problem?!

I can say it starts with some need to be on some stupid high chair, like I'm too smart for engineering (which might be true, the way professors teach them like idiots), but I most certainly am not all that smart and thus it only comes out as: I'm so full of shit. Could I be any less despicable?

[1:46pm edit]
Most of the last class was spent in an elaborate daydream about running into LesMisGuy here. You see, I asked the guy from class about a place to get lunch and he mentioned a place recommended to him by a friend-who-has-no-chance-of-being-LesMisGuy. Well, in my fantasy, it was him. And I went there for lunch and ran into LesMisGuy while I waited in line but he had lunch with me, held my hand when I turned too visibly red and uncomfortable, letting me know it was alright and that he'd come all the way here for me. Then we'd proceed to become a couple and be awesome together. 


[3:20pm edit]
The instructor I don't like asked for people dumped via text/facebook. A girl in the front volunteered her story of how her six month boyfriend broke up with her. He pushed the subject, which made it painful for me because all I could think was "It's painful as fuck to be broken up with. It's so much worse when it's done so horribly. She probably doesn't want to talk about it in front of 100 people, even if you just want to tell her how much of an idiot the exboyfriend was." I was thankful to other girls for telling their stories, which may have been just a ruse to get some attention but I preferred to see as "sharing the load." When the class was over I decided that, if he hasn't already, SmTn's lookalike should ask this girl out. They look like a good match and I'm guessing she already has a minor crush on him (if he's noticed he lives in the same building as her and knows his name from afar).

The song I can't quite get into my head is "I can't take my eyes off of you" by Walk of the Earth and Selah Sue. 

I keep singing it as the Damien Rice song ("The Blower's Daughter"), 

I try to remind myself it has a more reggae feel to it and end up thinking of UB40's "(I can't help) falling in love with you."

Not that you could actually know this unless I told you, but I didn't really write this post (online) at the times I put in. I wrote most of it by hand and transcribed it, then added more bits as I remembered what else I meant to write but didn't put on paper.

Wednesday, 16 January 2013

The not-so-shiny thoughts

So, in Spanish there's this expression about how some things can shine when they're absent ("____ brilla por su ausencia")... I almost have evidently started a long explanation of something almost completely useless, considering I'm writing this post in English and the expression doesn't translate too well. 

If any thoughts at all were to be shiny, under the above explanation (or lack thereof), they would be thoughts of LesMisGuy (and maybe even SmTn). I have thought of LesMisGuy. I thought of him when I went to watch Les Misérables, no less, but I couldn't bring myself to write about it because... well, what would the point of that be? He had me at Victor Hugo and I get nothing at all from remembering it. I sometimes think his name out loud in my head and wonder what he's up to. I sometimes wonder if I couldn't perchance run into him in the future and concoct strange scenarios, all the stranger now on account of how faded all my memories are by now. I can't even remember what it was like to kiss him, or what he smelled like... 

I thought of him in my first days of class as I walked around campus. You see, people are found in higher densities around the shortest paths between buildings (particularly useful to your friendly neighbourhood lost girl too embarrassed to open a map) and it reminded me of LesMisGuy's analysis of ants. As he told me, ants leave behind a smell as they make their way to a food source so that, over time, as more ants go there, the smell builds up for the others to follow. As the smell builds up, it helps ants cut around the corners, making the path more effective the more ants go through it. *sigh*

Today, I found myself suddenly remembering that time when a lot of us were studying together and LesMisGuy acted a bit territorial (or so it felt to me). For no reason whatsoever, the thought just came to mind and it's been bothering me (also for no reason). I just don't know what to make of it, and I don't know why I'm even bringing it up. It just seemed odd enough. 

As for SmTn... I sent him an e-mail last night because it's been too long since we last talked and I don't think I've written him an e-mail for at least two weeks... I miss talking to him and hearing from him. I don't have a lot to say except that I found a lookalike of his in one of my classes. It's funny, because they actually look very similar... it's like a younger, somewhat shorter version of SmTn if he'd been born to look like a stereotypical surfer. The guy in class also looks calm and sweet. I wouldn't dare talk to him, and it would be silly to want to get to know him just because he looks like SmTn... but I can't help being curious. I can comfort myself in the thought that I know sort of know what SmTn would look like with longer hair. 

In case you were wondering, the song in my head is "Misty Mountains." 

I wish there were a longer version or I could come up with a nice melody to go with the rest. There's a church-chant quality to that song that soothes me... Plus, I love the deep voices speaking of deep dungeons, it's just such a good suit for a song of dwarves, you know.

Oh, and... shiny indeed? EBF. Didn't even respond my new year's greeting. Serves me right, I suppose.

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Correct me if I'm wrong

I'm very tired. I woke up not-that-late to go to the gym, showered and got ready in a flash to go out for lunch, went to university, tried to undo some (as it turns out bogus) silliness with (this time real) silliness, made myself feel silly all day, went to class, felt sorry for the professor and appalled by my classmates, got a ride from cousin S and got here. Aunt A had been busy making dinner rice and salad. I, er... ate neither. I'm starving a little, but I just  don't want to eat anything else. 

Dinner was painfully slow. Uncle A was away. The conversation dragged on with much effort on everyone's side. Cousin I and cousin S did their best to be agreeable. I turned to petting the dog because I mentioned what should have been nice good news and aunt A used it to talk of miscarriage. As soon as cousin S made to get off the table I helped clear the dishes. When I was done with that, I set out to give the dog some food but decided to wash her plate before (it was disgusting, to be honest). 

When cousin S went away I started making arrangements to do the laundry (my bedsheets needed it badly, and I was out of pyjamas). I offered aunt A to help with her laundry. For the first time, she said she'd be embarrassed to have me help with that. I insisted and she almost agreed but ultimately (read: the last time I asked just before putting in my clothes in the washing machine) she said no. She kindly helped me put the bed cover in the dryer. I pulled out the bed cover just under "very dry to touch" and extended it over the table. Aunt A touched it and told me it was not dry yet and I shouldn't sleep on it (it's fine). Even if it were wet (I deliberately poured water on my bed before, remember?) it wouldn't make me sick. It would make me more likely to get sick if it managed to lower my defences... but it's a bit of a long shot. 

Anyway... flash forward to being done with the laundry and deciding it's about time to go to sleep, which requires leaving the cat in the garage. Since uncle A was away, no one had left her any food and her plate was also horrible so I washed it too. I was hoping I'd be able to give the aluminium can a wash and leave it out to be recycled without aunt A seeing me, but it could not be done. As I walked to the trash can to toss the can aunt A stared at me. She gave me this "who does she think she is?" kind of look so I asked "what?". I'm quite sure she lied when, flustered, she responded with a "Nothing! I just thought you look so tired!". If it was nothing her response would not have been alarm, if that were the feeling behind her look it would have looked a lot more like pity. I don't think my "what?" was that strongly asked that it merited such a reaction. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aunt A is a terrible liar. 

Correct me if I'm wrong. If I'm wrong. This adds up my sentiments on a lot of things, lately. People here would have me do things I'm sure are not right (read: morally correct). Aunt A doesn't want to recycle so I want to recycle behind her back. To a much lesser extent, I'm quite sure it's not very nice to discuss politics and tragedies as often or in all the scenarios where it's accustomed to discuss such things here. Everyone wants me to earn things through networking which I'm adamantly opposed to. Uncle A actually suggested that I cut through corners to get a job. Now, I know I'm often in ethical grey areas, and this is especially true of pirating... but help me out here: recycling metal cans is not only not forbidden, but should be encouraged to people who go through a can a day (minimum); pleasant conversation should be pleasant; jobs should be earned through showing you're qualified and not through knowing the right person; it's not a good idea to compromise my government given right to be here. 


[edit, 16th of January]
Look at what it's come to. While aunt A was asleep (inexplicably, might I add... the telly was blasting censored profanities from some reality show or other at a very high volume) I sneaked into the kitchen and garage. I put some dog out for the food, though she wouldn't eat (I'm now afraid aunt A gave her something that upset her stomach), and put some food out for the cat before I left her in the garage. Even as I opened the container I couldn't help but read: "Aluminium recyclable." I had to. I slid into the garage with both empty cans, closed the door quietly and, in as small a stream of water as I thought could go unheard, I washed the cans as best I could before leaving them in the recycling bin. I was hoping there would be more there to "hide" the cans, but alas! there was only a single container there. Before coming back to my room I just had to turn down the volume on the television. It was driving. me. mad. 

Aunt A woke up shortly after that (really? the noise doesn't wake her, and neither did the sound of me doing the dishes, but somehow less sound woke her up?). I'm now fretting that under whatever twisted logic operates in her head, recycling is wrong and now I feel guilty about it. Even though it eats at me whenever I put the cans with the regular garbage, as I can't help but think of how much aunt A and uncle A (and many others like them) contribute to the ever growing piles of rubbish. I can't help but think of how many (and I'm sure the number's in the hundreds, at least) cans of cat and dog food over the year have gone without being recycled and the thought haunts me. I'm well aware of many possibly less-than-eco-friendly choices of mine, but somehow their deliberately hypocritical approach at recycling gets to me. 

I can't believe I did the right thing and it now feels wrong on account of reasons as ridiculous as aunt A's unwillingness to recycle. 

To think this all started because the telly was on so loud I couldn't focus on the textbook I was reading and wanted to go to sleep so I could make up for the lost time tomorrow without being too sleepy. It's now been 50min since I first decided "I'll just go to sleep now."

Sunday, 13 January 2013

Ich weiß es noch, Mutter

Ich habe meine Mutter einen E-mail zugeschickt mit eine Abschrift dieser Semesters Acquit. Ich weiß noch, dass es sehr teuer war und so verdanke ich meinen Onkel A und meine Tante A. Ich weiß noch dass ich soll nicht immer im Zimmer bleiben. Ich weiß dass ich soll mehr sprechen, mehr helfen, mehr machen. Aber es ist aber kompliziert. Sie sind aber fremde, aber eigenartige, aber fremde... 

Saturday, 12 January 2013

Corpses and brides

I had a dream last night where two women were getting married and my newly pregnant cousin was in charge of the rings. She misplaced them for a bit but found them relatively quickly after fretting that one of the brides was there already. There weren't just rings: there were earrings too. I'm no longer sure if the jewellery or the diamonds alone were Russian, but this was somehow important enough to be pointed out in the dream. Mum got a kit to dye her hair as a present in another dream. In yet another dream I remember being in a car in Bta with an older woman that had a mother-in-law air about her (as in "she's not quite from my family, but might as well be") and others. On the street, to our left, lay a chow chow dog on the floor. The lady said he was resting, but I feared it could be dead and did not dare look.


Silence has taken over. It should be evident from the fact that I haven't taken the time to write a  proper post. Not even to mention a dream I had of LC4 having a baby little sister, about 2 years old. I had other dreams I meant to write about and never got around to.

I can't say it's that I didn't have the time. It's not even that I was away from the computer or that I didn't think to write anything down. It's just that I opened a blank page and didn't write anything down. I have yet to speak of my first days in a new university, of the people I haven't really looked at, of the instructor (I won't dignify his methods with another title) I don't like. I haven't said a word about how refreshing it is to be alone, left to my own devices as I gaze out a bus window for the first time in months without having to talk to anyone. I'm alone with my thoughts and sometimes even alone without them. I crave the solitude and spend ever more time in my room, to aunt A's (and apparently uncle A's) annoyance. I've thought of how I should go grocery shopping and think of a nice meal to cook as my way of saying "thank you for paying for my tuition" but I haven't come around to it. Aunt A hasn't offered to go grocery shopping with me and if it weren't for cousin I who got me cereal and nuts I would've gone quite hungry over the last few days. Even so... the lack of a homely meal is taking it's toll on me.

I don't have lunch to bring with me to university except for what I make myself, and I'm in such a wretched mood lately it's hard to think of anything I'd like to eat, leave alone prepare it and pack it to go. So all I've packed for myself are the nuts, granola bars and a peanut butter sandwich (because there is no ham to go with a proper ham and cheese sandwich). On Wednesday I grew hungry enough that I grudgingly paid for chicken (from a company I'd vowed to myself never to buy food from myself) because I felt guilty paying for pizza knowing the nutritional value was even worse than that of fried chicken. In the house I'm surviving on oatmeal, cereal, fruit, granola bars and whatever I find that suits my fancy. I dread the thought of aunt A's legumes... ever since she cooked "Indian style" chickpeas she puts turmeric, clove and cardamom on all legumes, which I'm not too fond of. I have lettuce and could have salad... but I just haven't felt in the mood for salad lately. I want fatty food, I want sweet food, I want comfort food (and it's lacking). 

Why break the silence now? Because I can't go without thanking my parents for worrying about me, checking in on me more often than usual and sending printed independence my way. Uncle A mentioned I should buy textbooks, but has done nothing about it and neither has aunt A. I let slip the fact that I'd found the titles for the ones I needed but said nothing further. I found online copies for two out of three and only needed (what I still think is a ridiculous amount of) money for the last one. The money that should have gone towards getting a haircut went into buying this textbook, along with more money still. The old man is trying to send more money my way so I can buy a little lunch now and then. 

I daresay aunt A is deliberately forgetting all about it (that I need to eat, that she's promised the haircut and facial appointments, that I need textbooks) and I can't fault her for it, but I can't help resenting her either. It's mostly the inner child in me expecting things she doesn't deserve... but the part of me that thinks this is all deliberate despises the petty attitude behind it because it feels a lot like she's trying to discipline me, my silence and my hermit ways. I won't ask for a thing. I can only hope that what my parents can provide suffices me and that I can get a job to stand stumble on my own two feet.

They're getting a new dog, you know. I don't know if I'd mentioned it before, but they are. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On one hand, I'm glad I'm not there because it would feel sacrilegious and like an insult to my little one's memory. On the other, while I'm glad they include me in the process I'm sad I'm not there to actually take part in it. It's been a while since I last had a proper conversation with anyone other than them. Not with A, not with AOB, not with SmTn, not anyone.

People here are counting on me making friends now that I have about 300 people to choose from... but I'm still shrouded in silence. Where I'm not trying hard to be a wallpaper who's annoyed by people who whisper during class I'm awkwardly not knowing if I should look at people around me or whether it's considered rude staring. In the class with the instructor I dislike I now unfortunately stand out and it could be just paranoia but I think I heard two girls talking about me and I want to shrink out of existence. 

I'm thankful to cousin I for asking if I'd like to watch a film with him tonight. He let me choose it, and he sat with me and watched it even though either of us would have given up on the whole thing when aunt A's friends arrived (it was too noisy to watch a film). He just cranked up the volume and sat there and let me talk not-really-related nonsense without judging me (too much). 

A young man on the bus told me to sit next to him and I did (without even thinking about it! what's the matter with me?!). He motioned to his cap, which he couldn't seem to be able to adjust and so I helped him. I noticed he smelled but it was too late and he seemed somewhat friendly so I tried not to think about it too much. He tried talking to me, I said he should speak louder as I couldn't quite make out his words over the background noise. He only tried talking a little at a time and after this gem he gave up: "you don't look like you belong here." I didn't know whether he meant "in the bus" or "in the city" but my answer was "I gotta study." After that he didn't say anything more and neither did I. 

Tuesday, 8 January 2013

I might be sorry later on, but I'm not now

Aunt A and uncle A were away for the night. I spoke with my parents and aunt MT for about an hour, chatted with A for a little while (she wanted to check in on me on my first day of classes in a new university). I can say that around noon I checked online and it seemed my problem had been solved. Not officially, though, as I had yet to receive confirmation via e-mail. This arrived around 3pm, when I was already on my way to the office where I was able to clear up nothing, as they weren't taking walk-ins. I have to arrive early tomorrow. Nevertheless, the big problem is now solved. I told AOB about it. He made a remark about not mentioning it ever again. I quite agree.

While talking to my parents I mentioned running low on snacks to take to university and cereal. I don't know if cousin I overheard, I can only guess he could, but he offered to buy groceries when he went to the supermarket. He always offers and it's not the first time he goes to the supermarket and offers to buy things, but it's the first time I ask for something and the first time I sort of need something. I'll stand by it being a very nice gesture. I just heard him doing the dishes in the kitchen and was embarrassed to remember I forgot two dishes from dinner, a cutting board and two knives. I meant to go sort them out later, but forgot to. Part of the reason why is that cousin I asked if I'd like to watch a film with him. The film in question is Tokyo Story and I'm again very thankful to cousin I, because it's beautiful.

The film is far more eloquent than you'd expect for the relatively short time it lasts, without leaving things unspoken (which can be a bit annoying, I find). The acting was superb, the direction was very pleasant and the emotional parts were genuine (as opposed to the deliberate tearjerkers I've come to abhor in Hollywood films). I'd go on, but I really need to sleep and before that I need to double-check a few things lest my day have a less than pleasant start tomorrow morning. Off I go.

Thanks, cousin I. Thank you so much. 

Monday, 7 January 2013


I wrote an e-mail expressing my concern for the trouble with university and it has so far gone unanswered. I'm fretting and feeling ever more nauseous. I left AOB a message filling him in because I've no one else to talk to about this. He answered. I tried to change the topic so I don't come across as being quite so self-centred and ask about his gym training. He says he kept it up for three weeks then gave up. I ask if he's not seeing results or a pretty girl at the gym to encourage him to keep it up. I think I know why he's not answering. I realised I shouldn't have said that a little too late. Fuck.

Restless and worried

All right, it's been a weekend and the morning has begun. I've still told no one other than AOB. No answer yet for the e-mail I sent on Friday. I worry that I haven't been able to picture the worst case scenario clearly enough. I have this strange tradition of thinking of how things work out and knowing that whatever I think isn't what's going to happen. I can't properly picture things not working out and it seems to predict they won't work out. I need them to work out! What a mess everything will be!

I had a dream about being in Spain, where a restaurant keeper served me and (AOB? or was it R1?). SmTn was in the dream and sneaked up behind me as I wrote on the book I intend to give him for Christmas. I was afraid he'd ruin the surprise. 

Sunday, 6 January 2013

It's not the soap, aunt A

Woke up, went to the bathroom, walked into the kitchen to get something for breakfast and the first thing aunt A remarked is that my face is a fucking mess (not exactly in those words). Is it the soap I am using? It's the same I was using last semester and the one before that and maybe even the one before that. That's not quite it. Is it that the soap is somehow reacting with the hard water here and giving me an allergy? I don't think so, aunt A. Do I need to buy an expensive soap? I don't want you wasting money on me like that, aunt A. I already know what it is. It's the fact that I'm not on the birth control pills that kept break outs under control too, it's the stress that breaks me out and the compulsive face picking which makes matters even worse. It has nothing to do with the soap and all it proves is that a decent exfoliant can't work miracles on problem skin of problem people. 

To think all I had to write about this morning is a dream I had of running into a girl from school1 in a bus to university here, a dream about running into a guy from school1 again on a bus someplace else where I was eating, and a dream of kissing (though now I'm not so sure) and being about to sleep with SmTn if he could find condoms (most of it was implied, I believe... I now can't remember much of it with any certainty).

Today's Phantom of the Opera song is "Masquerade." 

(Here I was torn between this version and the 25th anniversary one. Costume design won this round.)

Yesterday's was "The Phantom of the Opera."

(No thinking about it twice. Ramin Karimloo is my favourite Phantom.)

Saturday, 5 January 2013

Of trees and silence

You already know the question: "if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one around to witness it, did it really make a sound?" It seems I didn't quite know the question, as I wanted to change it to "did it really fall?" which is silly enough that I had to double check with Google... Now what I wanted to say may or may not make an awful lot of sense (in connection with the title).

I found out about a mandatory meeting (college-related) purely by chance. After fretting about the date (I wouldn't be around, I was at BCN's) and finding out there was another one I could attend, I worried less. I even sorted out the health insurance paperwork. I showed up for the meeting and it was a bit strange not being in any list, but I never signed up for the meeting and kept being told it was fine. When I  mentioned I never heard about the meeting and never got an e-mail, it was chalked up to a typo in whoever put my e-mail in their database. When my papers didn't show, it seemed to be because someone failed to send them. The truth is a lot more horrifying than those apparently silly mistakes. I fell through a bureaucratic loophole and what that means is that I may not be allowed to study next semester (which, might I add, starts on Monday). Over the course of the last two months or so, I failed to be directed to the office who would have known something was off. I was given an option I should not have been given. I was moreover able to go through with this option even though such a thing should not be allowed. To make matters worse the university followed through on this (not properly) forbidden option and no one caught on to the mistake until very late in the game (read: the last Friday before the Monday when classes start). 

I can't help but wonder why no one along the line thought to refer me to the right office. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I hadn't found out about the meeting. I can't help but worry myself crazy because I've told no one except AOB, who reasonably told me to stay calm and reassure me that I did nothing wrong knowingly and it's up to them to fix it. However, it should have been solved by Friday. I received a call around noon telling me to wait a few hours, that they'd do everything possible but there were no guarantees. I never got another call. I am stuck waiting until Monday and it may already be too late to work things out except I don't know it.

If the decision has already been made but I don't know what it is, what is the outcome? Is it like Schrödinger's cat where I'm half allowed to study and half forbidden to (probabilistically)? If I've told no one about this problem, what will happen when it fails to resolve itself and I ultimately have to speak out? What am I going to do if I'm not allowed to study? What? I'd have to go back home, which would be a welcome change but a very unfortunate and inconvenient one for mostly economic reasons. To say that it's a setback is an understatement. To say anything at all to anyone (except AOB) feels like I'm making the problem real(er) and admitting it may not have a solution tempting fate.

On other notes... Thanks cousin S. For calling aunt A a negative person to her face (well, more like asking her not to be so negative). For inviting me to the cinema to watch Les Misérables. Of the film I will say little. I wish I could watch it again from the comfort of my bed, the dark, solitude and the promise that no one will notice or care about the bags under my eyes if I cry. I loved Hugh Jackman, I was pleasantly surprised by Anne Hathaway and I hated Russel Crowe. I would have chosen someone like Alan Rickman or John Malkovich for Javert... such a shame. Oh and I decided I could be very attracted to someone like Eddie Redmayne. 

Thursday, 3 January 2013

Freud had a lot of patience

Three things. 

1) I had a dream about clothes. Namely, clothes aunt A bought me the other day that cousin I took with him and I haven't seen again. I don't dare ask about them. I don't know if they were in the trunk of the car. I don't know if they were stolen from the trunk of the car when they took it to be fixed. Like I said, I don't dare ask.

2) Yesterday (or was it the day before...?) I had bits from The Phantom of the Opera from around "The Point of No Return" playing over and over again in my head.

3) Today it's bits from around "Prima Donna."

4) (and therefore not really official) I've had two hunches develop over the last few days. Namely, that EBF and N2 will break up for good this year and that I'll have a boyfriend (a real one).

[edit from the future on the 24th of November]
EBF and N2 did break up for good (it seems). No news of the boyfriend. I'd say it's not officially late for something to happen, but, who are we kidding? It's not going to happen.

In unrelated news... it's very hard to leave the bed, leave alone the room... To shower, to eat, to socialise... it's very hard to leave the bed even if I'm doing fuck all.