to thine own self

I should be reading for, and also actually writing, an essay on Chinese foreign policy right now, but I don't want to, I want to a) watch Angels in America or b) go shoe-shopping or c) sleep all day or d) some combination of the above. I was supposed to go to a lecture today, but I couldn't get out of bed. It is so awful to say you physically couldn't get out of bed until twenty-five minutes past twelve, but I couldn't. It wasn't just vague laziness, as it usually is, but more along the lines of being glued flat. I couldn't do it.

I was therefore only awake for twenty minutes before leaving the house, during which Claire popped in to tell me she'd found Jesus. I found this a tiny bit surprising. Just a bit. It eventually became clear that she has practice exam questions coming out of her ears, and one of them is actually, possibly, perhaps, a picture of Jesus Christ. It seemed an auspicious beginning for the day. I went outside, nearly walked straight into wadiekin, wailed a little bit about how much I was already failing at the day –

(yes, I’m incapable of doing anything else; can it be just said for the record right now that Michaelmas ’07 was the term Iona Failed)

– because I didn’t get up before twelve twenty-five and it all seemed slightly hopeless. I was going to yuletide lunch with ou3fs, which was a resounding success as long as we do not define success by “talking about yuletide”. Instead, more or less everyone turned up and talked about New Year’s, and shoes, and I think Blake’s 7 at some point..

Speaking of which, I actually found this quite interesting. The other night I had a bunch of people in my room, mostly female, who got to talking about clothes. And shoes. And ball dresses. ( clothes, feminism and guilt )

Despite Chinese foreign policy, the last couple of days have been very nice indeed. I have been co-dependent with jacinthsong - in the last ten days or so, we have communicated via LJ comments, LJ messages, Facebook wall posts, Facebook messaging, ordinary email, Herald webmail, Google Talk, phone, text, and pidge, and failing that, realised we live a quarter of a mile apart and have gone round to see each other – and eaten faaaaar too much chocolate and done no exercise, and on Monday night lots of people I love came around to watch Angels In America, and it was great.

(Seriously, how much do I love Prior? I still haven’t seen all of it – am about half an hour into Perestroika now – but I thought I loved him as a character before he turned up looking like Morticia Adams, and now, well. Heeee. Love.)

Also, there was microwaveable sponge pudding, which we didn’t eat that night in the end, and not pie. But there was lots of sugar, and I keep finding mugs and glasses and cutlery in improbable places, like under the bed, and it was only about the second time this term that I’ve filled my room with people and it was lovely.

I am suffering lately, though, from an odd convergence, which is manifesting as my putting my head in my hands and yelling, “Secret double life!” I always used to have, you see, a secret double life par excellence. When I was thirteen, fandom was my little secret. And it didn’t stay that way - hathy_col arrived in a burst of, well, enthusiasm and squee and potatoes, and changed my life – but it was still somewhat distinct. I talked about it at school to people who knew about it already, which helps enforce the separation, I think. But since I’ve been here in Oxford, and particularly since Maria joined OULES, it’s all coming together in a big blur and is upsetting my notions of how life should be a little bit. It’s a good thing, it’s a great thing that my friends are now one glorious mess of out-there fannish beautiful people who talk in cat macros, but it still worries me a tiny bit. I love it here, I do. Maria and I were chatting online at three am about how people should write fic about Plato and Socrates where they’re in a band with toga-clad groupies, and at length I said we should maybe make some peppermint tea and I went into the kitchen to find her teary-eyed with laughter, and yes, that’s it, that’s what I want, I have always wanted not to be an outsider in my real life, and now I’m not and it is so great I’m actually becoming incoherent.

That is a very long paragraph.

Er. Dear self,

Write about Chinese foreign policy. Remember that? See the books all over your room? Recall the deadline today at five? YES. THAT.

Sincerely,

you.