Hackery

Argh I am so tired. I have not gone to bed yet because I am so tired I have emerged out the other side, to the point where you're swaying on your feet but are determinedly wide awake if a little given to saying totally ridiculous things. The reason I am so tired is that Pat and I have decided that between us, we can turn over a new leaf. Yes. If we both arrange to meet in the morning, and get self-righteously pissed off if the other cancels, then we can agree to go the library avec books and actualy do some revision. Today was my first day of actual work. Vive la revolution and all that - I urge everyone to join the Facebook group devoted to the creation of the Social Science Library Free State - but pending the student coup and transformation of the SSL into a sovereign nation (any day now, yes), it's a very pleasat place to work, if anywhere could be said to be. It's the only library in Oxford I can use - and I'm a PPEist, I can use five! - which doesn't feel like it's centuries old with the the wisdom of ages in its brickwork. To start with, it doesn't have any (brickwork, not wisdom). It's entirely made of glass, and full of space and air and purple chairs and tables and, thank god, a machine that vends lukewarm coffee if you feed it ten pieces of silver.

So Pat and I are going there in the morning, doing work, drifting upstairs to drink coffee and bitch, and then going back to work, and then again, and so on and so forth. It's a decent routine, and I'm hoping we can keep it up through seventh and eighth week and perhaps I won't fail my prelims. I won't fail them anyway, but I'd rather do better than scrape a pass. We came back to college tonight and had dinner on the lawn, in the sunlight, and after a day of being holed up working, everything suddenly seemed hysterically funny. Actually, some of it really was funny. I was in an economics tute this afternoon, which turned into more of a revision advice session than a tute, and Liya asked, "Do people usually fail prelims?"

Pat and I exchanged glances whilst the tutor said, conversationally, "Oh, yeah, loads and loads. Usually absolutely everyone fails. I'm sure the three of you are going to fail. I don't know why we bother."

Pat and I exchanged glances and tried not to laugh. (I've said this before, but I'm so glad we didn't know each other when we were younger. We're ridiculous now, but if we'd been at school together, we'd have got into so much trouble.) There was a pause before Liya said, "Really?"

Note to self: do not fall about laughing in the middle of tutorials. Especially don't do it when it's imperative you keep your mouth shut and thus nearly give yourself an aneurysm. Retelling this story on the grass within earshot of said tutor - for some reason, all my tutors congregate on the grass drinking Pimms whenever it's sunny, much like the rest of the college - wasn't the best idea I've ever had, but one of the funnier ones, out there in the beautiful evening after a day spent working and Being a Good Person.

(Of course, the feeling-smug-and-productive thing rather evaporated later when I found out I'd accidentally got all my stuff locked into the library overnight. There are times when I think it's me who has the problem with my brain being missing.)

And after this day of doing work, I was so very tired and ready to go to bed when Claire called to ask if I wanted to play night frisbee. Playing night frisbee is getting more and more difficult these days because of the lack of night - it still wasn't quite dark at quarter to eleven, tonight - so I cursed my lack of willpower and went on down. Out on the quad grass, it was dim and beautiful and also a tiny bit futile, as I said. When Claire complained, I pointed out that she was the one who'd got everyone to come out to play night frisbee and not brought the frisbee.

The frisbee eventually appeared, but that wasn't the point. Why do I always end up out there, in the end? Something in my life compels me to spend my nights out on the grass where there's too little light to make out faces, beneath a darkening sky. The eternal mystery - why is there is such a perfect view of the night sky from every college quad? - remains unsolved, although I amused myself by lazily picking out the brightest stars and lamenting the loss of Orion. In winter here, it's the most obvious and bright constellation, and I guess it's just another reminder of how quickly this year has gone. I love the daylight lasting untl late.

Tonight, I was in a deckchair, barely able to see the people two feet away. It's a surreal experience, and it's silly how quickly you get used to it, turning to face people by their voices. Ben arrived after a bit, and a historian called Sam, and somehow my plan for an early night disappeared. I wish the time wouldn't slip away so quickly. The next two weeks, I think, won't do the same and I wish that they would. The list of Things To Do In Ninth has expanded even further to include "stay up all night on the solstice". I think it's a good plan, along with "go to the museums", "fall in the Cherwell", "go book-shopping" and "eat sushi" and "drink really a LOT".

That's it, I guess. I am being boring. Claire was telling me about how she's thinking of changing subject, because, as she said, "I'm feeling dis-... um, dis-... what's the word? What I feel about the Labour Party."

"Disillusioned!" Sam and I chorused, which may be symbolic of something, perhaps. For some reason we got to talking about left-wing despair in Oxford, which is an always-cheerful topic when you consider how many of your friends' friends aspire to being Tory ministers, but I think I am beginning to ramble uselessly and it is time for bed. When I make in-depth posts about politics here, then I know I've subscribed to the cult of hackery.

Enough! Goodnight to all.