Whole new low, and what followed

A whole new low was reached today, I think. I was curled up on Claire's windowsill, listening to music drifting outside as Claire ran around for clothes while yelling at Ben down the phone to get out of bed, and Pat could be heard singing in the shower next door. I asked, as you do, "Weren't you going to Modern Art Oxford today?"

"It closes at five," Claire said. "I don't think we'll all be up and dressed by then."

(It was about quarter to three. I'd been awake about half an hour, myself. If, collectively, no one in this house can get out of the house before the shops close, I foresee problems in the future.)

I eventually left home, with books and laptop - but no power cable, because I am intelligent like that - and went through a lovely muted afternoon up the Cowley Road and to the House of Joy. Where jacinthsong answered the door with, "Guess what TV show I'm going to be on?"

Heeee. Neither Wadham's nor Balliol's University Challenge team has officially got through the heats yet - I think they will, as I and the Balliol team did the written selection test last week and were able to answer nineteen of twenty questions - but if they both do, it will be the best thing ever and if jacinthsong and I are pitted against each other it really will be the best thing ever.

My afternoon at the House of Joy was supposed to be for the purposes of finishing this essay. Huh. I spent about four hours curled up on the bed with lizziwig, eating chocolate fingers and oranges, , looking out at the grey outside the window and contemplating what likethesun2 has taken to calling the encore Broadway performances of OMG!: The Musical, being very disappointed at the lack of kiwi fruits in the vicinity and making lists of everyone we know and what their daemons - a la Phillip Pullman - would be. (For interest's sake - me, a raven; Lizzie, a ferret; Laura, a Chinese water deer.)

By about eight o'clock, I had written seven hundred words and taken to cutting and pasting large portions of my notes in to up the word count, we had been very rude about Americans and I had re-proposed my theory that the American state of Delaware doesn't actually exist. I finished my essay in the middle of a sentence, was fed aloo bangan by Laura - which was good, and eaten with fingers as a mark of my appreciation - and also apple strudel. (I have spent this entire week eating other people's food. Honestly. I think my own food ran out about Tuesday and I just haven't bought anything since.)

Yes, essay finished, so we went to the Pit. Which was, today, a pit, and somewhat bereft of the assembled masses, but I didn't mind; I ended up drinking vodka neat, contentedly, in a chair, and wandered home discussing the oncoming apocalypse with foulds. My flatmates are about somewhere, drinking whiskey, but I kind of didn't want to join them. I had a strange sort of realisation this evening, in fact. I've been escaping my flatmates a lot lately, especially in the last couple of weeks, and I hadn't been sure why. (I adore them, I do; I have absolutely no gripe with them, and I'm lucky to live with people I am so fond of.) I realised why, tonight. It's just, they're wonderful people, but unexpected friends for me to have. Of course they're liberal and open-minded, but they're not like me; whereas when I escape to the House of Joy or to ou3fs things in general, it's to be with people who are like me, who are fannish and queer and a wee bit mad, who are mad keen on gender and politics, on comics fandom and literature and obscure music, on wine and spirits, who honestly represent a break with what I left behind when I came here.

Which all sounds a tad wanky-pretentious, and I guess it is. But it's still true.

Still desperately claustrophobic, still want to get out. But more convinced that people love me.

(no subject)

Yes, this is one of those "amuse me, minions" posts. But PLEASE. I am PACKING. Hate PACKING. Am at the familar stage of "ooh, have taken posters down, ooh, have got books off shelves, ooh, have been at this for TWO HOURS WHY DO I HAVE SO MUCH CRAP, ooh, drawers are empty now, oh, top one isn't, ohgod SO MUCH CRAP."

Am losing mind, obviously. Comment, darlings, PLEASE. Tell me things, spam me, post music, post cute pictures of kittens, tell me how much of a wanker I am, I careth not, SAVE ME FROM PACKING.

(Why in the name of all that is sweet and holy do I have Spanish-language aspirin and three plastic Hawaiian leis?)

...please amuse me before I die of boredom under a pile of textbooks and takeaway chopsticks.