Having got Delaware sewn up, Joe Biden needs 267 electoral college votes to be president.

So much for being a good person. Having spent the last two days being nice, and looking after Ben - he spent of the time deliriously muttering about jazz, physics and Weetabix, and finally woke up the light of day yesterday night, at which point it was dark - he has given me his horrendous flu-like scourge. I am not feeling well at all, and it's all his fault. In his defence, he seems to acknowledge this fact and came by this afternoon in order to apologise profusely. I merely glared at him and retreated to bed, where I alternately slept, read Locke and perused ridiculous amounts of blogging about Senator Joe Biden, Village Idiot for Delaware. As long as the American election campaign is ongoing, I always have ways to waste time.

Seriously, though. What an idiot. Quite apart from his bizarre comments a couple of days ago, I've discovered that in the 1988 presidential campaign, he plagiarised an entire speech that had actually been written for - wait for it - Neil Kinnock. Oh, my. Speaking of Neil Kinnock, I want very much to get him as a Cerberus speaker for this year.

(Have I explained what Cerberus is? I think I have, but just in case, it's Balliol's in-house PPE society, longstanding and somewhat pretentious. The tutors appoint three Triarchs for each academic year, of which yours truly is one. We get in internal and external speakers to give talks on usually unashamedly left-wing topics, and college pays for the wine. Everyone wins.)

Either Neil Kinnock, or the current commissioners, from whom we got an absolutely delightful letter addressed to "Ms [my last name], Triarch of Cerberus, Balliol College" (yay, pretension! my incredibly brief postal address is one of my favourite things), detailing how pleased they'd been to be invited, and we must let them know next time they were in the country. And there was a proper signature, too. Much love for my non-elected representatives.

But the only confirmed speaker we have for the rest of this term is fairly exciting on his own. It's Dr. Morison. As in Morison and Pooley. OMG, yes. Because he specialises in philosophy of the ancient world, I plan to extend invitations to PPEists (naturally), but to classicists, classical archaeologists, all philosophy half-breeds and just for the hell of it, economists too. And undoubtedly they will all come, because everyone was so crushingly disappointed at the total lack of Morison and Pooley General Philosophy lectures this term. It is a tragedy of epic proportions.

Ack, I think the ibuprofen is wearing off. I am being informed by my flatmates that I am not walking in a straight line, no matter how personally great being doped up to the eyeballs makes me feel. Walking in a straight line is, I believe, much overrated. Tomorrow I have to not only walk in a straight line but write an essay about Locke's abstract ideas and possibly be productive in other ways as well. So I should probably go to bed.

Probably. But I've been asleep all day and am thus disposed to whine, or at least, procrastinate madly rather than reading about Locke or Berkeley. One thing I definitely need to do in the next couple of days is sign up for remixredux, but I'm in a quandary in that it's been about a year since I've updated Sleeping With Ghosts, and I don't know if I should just bite the bullet and do it, or whether I should create an LJ post with links to all my fics and put it off even more. There's a ridiculous amount of fics that need adding - maybe about fifteen? - and I need to mess with the structure of the site to incorporate maybe five more fandoms, so I have no idea.

And I also think I should probably write a piece of fic, something, anything, before I sign up. The last thing I wrote was Cassandra In The Rain, way back in November, and I've done nothing since. I still have on my hard drive the unfinished epic of an X-Files fic, which I bothered amchau incessantly with over the summer and now have promised to finish for narahttbbs, and I also promised a campaign Josh/Sam West Wing fic for absinthe_shadow. I am indecisive. And a little lacking in confidence as to whether I can still write. Actually, a lot lacking in it. Of course I know that my writing is hardwired into my brain, I'll lose the ability to walk in a straight line before I lose the ability to form words on paper, but I walked into a door on my way here after dinner, so, yes. There is that.

Now I babble. See me babble. I think I need to go to bed and take more pills, not in that order.