Lists

Reasons why I, and other people, but mostly me, are made of epic fail:

1. My laptop is suffering from, and I quote the computing services here, "spontaneous hardware failure". ("That sounds like spontaneous human combustion," Maria said, and I am forced to agree.) What does that mean, I wailed. "Sometimes," the man said, "sometimes, chips just die."

Great. "We'll take it apart for you no problem!" he said.

I find the thought of someone taking Loki apart very violating, for some reason. But at least they aren't saying it's irredemable, which is something.

Er, yes, this is me typing on Loki. It's best not to look to closely at this phenomenon in case it disappears. Like quantum.

2. I came back from the computing services and went back to bed. Slept fitfully for an hour or so, woke up feeling hungry, went into kitchen for late breakfast with assorted flatmates. When I went back to my room, my scout had locked it. With the key inside. I should point out that my attire was, well, not something I mind my flatmates seeing me in - my flatmates have seen me in worse states, it must be said - but, yeah. I went to Claire and demanded clothes, and went determinedly down to the lodge wearing one boot, one sandal, half-pyjamas and half-jeans.

Fail. Oh, so much fail. They did get me in again, and I thought the day had to start getting better, which brings us to point number three.

3. So, there's me having a shower and getting ready to face the hopefully now-improving day. I drop the soap. I reach down and pick it up, and note in bemusement that the whole floor is awash with red. It looked like some sort of cheesy B-movie, honestly. Blood everywhere. I eventually discovered, and dressed, a cut on my foot - no doubt acquired by the walk down to the lodge - but in the meantime, it looked like I was disposing of evidence, seriously. I'm just glad it happened before my scout came in, as she already thinks I am some sort of moral degenerate because I always go back to bed mid-morning. Sigh.

4. Some time actually passed. I ran around everywhere, I got out many, many books on Nietzsche, I handed in a dreadful essay on Cold War détente, I got stuff in order, and then I went to London in the afternoon to have dinner with Shubhra, American cousin what has abandoned the mother country, and my dad. We were all settled in a cheery restaurant somewhere off New Bond Street when Shubhra said, "I can smell something funny." And then, "Iona... you hair's on fire."

Yeah, I set my hair on fire. I win at life, I really do. I sat back down and tried not to notice the people moving to sit downwind of me. I can still smell it, sort of. Sigh. I managed to get home without further incident, but still.

Reasons why I, and other people, but mostly not me, are made of win:

1. chiasmata telling the nice people at the Queen's Lane coffee house that she'd like a cream tea, please, with no cream. This might go under the fail list, were it not for the fact that she is made of win anyway and cheered me right up after my morning of failure and Nietzsche and the bloody birth of tragedy. (Speaking of which, I really want to write fic where Darren and Geoffrey are Apollonian and Dionysiac and there are wacky pseudo-philosophical hijinks. There is something wrong with my brain other than the mantle of burning hair.)

2. Being in London with my dad and Shubhra. My mum sent me down some things - cake, and coffee, and proper spices: dhuniya and haldi and other things I cannot be bothered looking up the English for. And I have new boots. Boots are good.

3. ds_match is up and running! The first pair of stories went up yesterday, and there are more today. They are all made of win.

4. tau_sigma is also very much of great. I spent much of the journey back tipsily babbling to her about intelligent design and Egyptian food and natural sciences and indeed, burning hair.

5. Another thing that should probably go under the fail list, but. Shubhra today confessed a misconception that I thought was the best thing ever. The signs on the Underground, that say "Keep left" to stop people walking into other people going the other way? Yeah. She thought, she said, that they were political. That Transport for London were, in their small way, making the world a better place. Carry on, never surrender, bring on the revolution of the proletariat!

I feel bad for laughing as much as I did, but, you know. I still have a postcard on my door that says "You are now leaving the American sector." I couldn't help but laugh.

Right. Time for bed.