Is tomor­row at mid­day. Yay. I’m so tired and gen­er­ally over uni right now and think I’m get­ting sick. Hope­fully I won’t be prop­erly sick until after 1.40 tomor­row. Don’t really care what hap­pens then, it’ll be great. Now, after this post, I’m off to get sleep before mid­night for the first time in for­ever, after a vaguely mod­er­ately pos­si­bly pro­duc­tive ses­sion with Tori and one of her friends from col­lege (where else? Except Alex, I hardly know any­one in any of my courses, still! So hope­less…) wherein I dis­cov­ered how lit­tle I know. So tomor­row… pour­ing over quotes and gen­er­ally cram­ming and get­ting more stressed, but I have to leave here at roughly 11 any­way so it’s not as though I’m exactly going to get a lot done. What­ever. Hope­fully it’ll be not-stressful and enjoy­able. I’m prob­a­bly whin­ing about this exam and none of the oth­ers because its a sub­ject I actu­ally care about and am annoyed at myself for not hav­ing done more for it. The course hasn’t been the most inter­est­ing in the world — as in, it’s good, but I can think of other texts/themes/periods I’d rather be study­ing — but, regard­less, it’s still a sub­ject about which I’m gen­er­ally pas­sion­ate and not want­ing to let go of. I hate fin­ish­ing sub­jects because of what hap­pens after them… there’s some kind of attach­ment, even with non-enjoyable ones, where even months later you’re still con­tem­plat­ing every­thing you did wrong. Well, where you = me. I speak the good English.

Seri­ously, though. I had a night­mare about hav­ing just not both­ered going to my Busi­ness exam in Jan­u­ary this year (the exam was, what, Novem­ber 9?) — which was very nearly true, I hadn’t stud­ied much and left the exam early and was think­ing IN the exam of how much I was com­pletely bored by it and want­ing to be some­where else (where I was going after the exam) — and then I realised (still in the dream) that I didn’t actu­ally give a crap because I already had my UAI. What­ever. Not that the UAI meant much. I’m in Arts and not even sure I want to be in Arts any­more. This is all com­pletely ridicu­lous, by the way. As if I could do any­thing else. I’d decided two years ago that any­thing involv­ing num­bers was out… so that basi­cally means I’m going to be an unem­ployed home­less per­son liv­ing in New­town sell­ing hand-written poems, or teach. Well, okay, fine. I lie. There are a few other choices… but even plumbers do more maths than I.

I hate it when peo­ple aren’t even try­ing to derail your entire mode of think­ing and suc­ceed any­way. Suc­ceed is the wrong word, I sup­pose, because there was no intent. Either way. I was happy, damn it. Well… no, I sup­pose I wasn’t. (Am’n’t?) Just… don’t make me make more deci­sions. I’m too fickle and gen­er­ally pathetic for that. So, next semes­ter? Hope­fully every­thing will fly apart, mutate into some com­pletely dif­fer­ent shape, just for vari­ety. Hah. Vari­ety, in case you missed it, is a dis­guise for “I really want every­thing to be dif­fer­ent from how it is now but won’t say that because that’d be too blatant”.

And this post is an exer­cise in writ­ten con­ver­sa­tion. I nor­mally write some­what like I speak (yeah, big words and all, because I’ve fooled myself into think­ing I have a somewhat-effective com­mand of lan­guage… which works com­pletely until you come across some­one more arro­gant than your­self and more self-deluded in their own bril­liance, whereby it becomes wholly evi­dent to myself that I know noth­ing, as, clearly, do they. Only their illu­sion is stronger to out­siders not already in this mas­sive joke that is the far­ci­cal mask we don daily. Hmm, ironic that I worked so many big words into that.) but I can­not speak nor­mally. So what’s this? This is doubt­ing and chatty and… it feels like a phone call I haven’t had for a while, actu­ally, only with a lit­tle more teenage angst. I’m still enti­tled to another year and a half of that, note. How odd. I had not asso­ci­ated myself with that (age group) for at least that same period of time again now, but it does make a lot of sense. Or, at least, it’s a con­ve­nient excuse.

Hey, look at me, I’m not meant to be intel­li­gent or informed or to have a clue what’s going on. I’m meant to be taught, not teach­ing. Spoon feed me some more. There’s this mas­sive rever­sal… I used to write as though I had some sort of author­ity, too, and got away with it. This year… what? What? Doubt crept in… actu­ally, I wasn’t even the first to notice it. I got a com­ment on an essay from ages ago that per­plexed me, so (I sup­pose) I ignored it:

[…] on that mat­ter, there are times when you could be more direct. “It sems clear,” “as it stands,” “such it is that”, and oth­ers, express either a self-deprecation which in your case is unnec­es­sary, or — meaninglessness.

By all means, analyse my writ­ing, but please not like that. Doubt­less, I will be pep­per­ing tomorrow’s exam with sim­i­larly super­flu­ous phrases that exist purely to pad and dis­guise a gen­uine lack of insight and knowl­edge of the sub­ject mat­ter at hand. Maybe they’ll give a nice pas­sage for us to dis­sect. I could have fun with that, I sup­pose. Oh, I don’t know. There’s not much left to whine about. So I’ll go to sleep now and not have much more to say about it tomor­row. I never say much about exams once they’re past (insert hor­rific pun here). Passed isn’t good enough. I could not go to this exam (it’s 30%) and pass. I don’t want to pass, I want to be able to think like I used to (capac­ity for, not sub­ject of). I’m stuck between the real world and uni and one won’t force me to think whilst the other won’t allow me to… my brain only has a cer­tain degree of elas­tic­ity; torn between the two it will surely haem­or­rhage soon enough. And then I shan’t be able to at all. I knew I couldn’t do both! Why did I choose to? How can I now choose not to? Time for hol­i­days is so here. First, to a lit­tle island called Sleep…