Stuff. Chemistry and other things.

You know when you're in Chemistry practical, trying to do a titration, with your right hand on the burette tap and the other on the neck of the conical flask, dripping and swirling, dripping and swirling, and suddenly, there's a rush of liquid, your hands feel unpleasantly slimy, and all at once you realise that it must be a leaky burette and that's 2M sodium hydroxide in it and that slimy stuff is the lipids in your hands being made into soap, and you jump and yell, "Shit!" and knock the beaker off the table?

You know that moment?

Well, the entire day has been like that.

It began with the Harrison scholarships being handed out. I won't get into it again, just, I must have been stopped by half a dozen people and having a conversation as follows:

"You didn't get one?"
"No...."
"Well, there's always next year."

Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know what I'd do without that piece of information to sustain me.

Then, that stupid, horrible Chemistry calculation, which I couldn't do because I couldn't make the numbers come right, and there's my parents gently hinting that if I'm having this much trouble with it maybe I need some outside help, and just... anyway. I got into school to find the entire set had similar problems. In working out the percentage purity of the calcium carbonate, the answer should not come out to be more than a hundred. And yet, it did.

Turns out the NaOH was made up to the wrong concentration. Aaargh.

What followed involved Gemma, and I don't really know if I can write about it as I wasn't there, but much arguments and whatnot, which I really hoped had been left behind now. Blaaaaargh. I didn't like it. It was awkward and messy.

I suppose the only really good thing in the entire day was the fact my missing English essay turned up. I did hand it in after all. Got it back today with "A-" on it, which I suppose isn't bad for a first attempt. Similarly with Politics, which was quite frankly bizarre. Up until then, I'd been running into Mr Evans all over the place - he's the one who bounces up and down and shouts a lot - and as everyone knows it's his birthday, one of the sixth forms made him a paper hat with "BIRTHDAY BOY" on the front in biro. I'd run into him in the morning, at lunchtime (He called me a "political animal." Hee), and then in the afternoon lesson with Miss Hathway, he dropped in to explain whether or not this country could have its government made into a dictatorship (the answer is yes, theoretically). While he was standing there, he asked for tea, and we made him one, but before we went, the thirds ran in and started singing Happy Birthday very loudly and out-of-tune. He went bright red and the thirds thought it was hysterical. So, for that matter, did the sixth form set. When we actually gave him the tea (in a Playboy bunny mug!) the thirds seemed positively terrified. All in a day's work.

Well, that is all. Becca's birthday tomorrow, which will probably require a long update, and before then, I'm burning a CD for language_idling. Lots of fun, looking at your music through the eyes of someone else. I've limited myself to two songs per artist/band, which proved exceptionally difficult with Placebo and the Goo Goo Dolls. The thing with Placebo is that if it weren't for how distinctive Brian Molko's voice is, you wouldn't think that songs like Nancy Boy and Slave to the Wage and Centrefolds were all by the same band. With the Goo Goo Dolls, the problem is they don't have any stand-out oh-my-god-that-is-brilliant songs, but the songs are so consistently good. I can't think of a single one I don't like at least moderately.

Anyway, that is a story for another day. My parents should be home soon - I've yet to tell them what I'm doing tomorrow! - and Pedar will be in need of coffee. He went out in the middle of the night to do a Caeserean, and was consequently so tired he stabbed himself with his scalpel.

Oops.

Incense

If you have ever receieved a card from me, ever, you will know how much I loathe the empty white space in them. Cards from me never read, "Dear _____ , Happy Birthday/Christmas/New Year/Diwali/Hannukah/etc, love from Iona." As some people have said, I invariably write essays in them. I'm trying to write Becca's card at the moment, but without much luck. Nothing seems to be flowing, and I would be worried about it if I had the energy, which I don't. I haven't had much sleep this week, and I'd been breezing along merrily until about five minutes ago, when I was engulfed in a sudden wave of exhaustion. I can't go to bed before ten for the sake of my reputation, so I'm typing this from the other side of a dizzy precipice. I will shortly fall asleep where I'm sitting, and I can feel it in my writing, as I'm sure you can, too. The first sign of exhaustion is the use of too many subjunctive clauses.

The rest of my family are in the kitchen. Yesterday was my parents' ninteenth wedding anniversary, so there's been a little good-natured bickering about that, but a nice, Friday feeling permeates the air and everyone seems to be happy. One strange side-effect of Dadi being here is my family being bigger. Four people may not seem that much more than three, but it really is. It makes the family less of a polar molecule. And, I don't know, there's something very comfortable about Dadi's religious tendencies. It's Durga Puja this week and even though I'm not sure I believe in it, I do believe in the way the puja makes the air smell of agarbuthi (incense, in English) and fruit and spice and sweetness. The whole house smells of it. It's such a home type smell.

I'm so tired.