A very November kind of month
Nov. 17th, 2004 04:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI went to school today in a nice new red courdroy (I can't spell that word) skirt, general black top-ness and the fuck-you boots; the whole ensemble was unexpectedly colour-coordinated, so I figured it deserved a mention. Of all people, Mrs Hart told me she liked the skirt. I was pleased but mystified.
Moving on from things sartorial, a week on I am still pissed off at my loss of Wednesday afternoon in favour of sodding General Studies. As said before, it is such a fundamentally illogical subject. Last year in January (it was the exam I had on my birthday) I took the French and Culture and Arts - I got an A on the former and failed the latter. When I say failed, I mean it - we're talking two or three marks out of a possible twenty-five. I have no idea how I did that without trying. Failing with style, Pedar called it. In June, I resat the exams having done no lessons or revision in the meantime - and got full marks on both. An exam in which something like this happens seems to qualify as having something wrong with it. This year, I have Chemistry module four (Further Organic and Thermodynamic Chemistry) on my birthday, eighteenth no less.
But, unfortunately, if I want a Jubilee scholarship (and I do) I will have to take the exams and "pass them at the highest level." Blah. Still, three thousand pounds is a nice, nice amount of money.
Anyway, moving on. Life seems its ridiculous self - I now have stalkers, plural. I had one, Lizzie-from-the-Drama-Festival's younger sister, who is both incredibly annoying and persistent, but I now have acquired a veritable gang. Yesterday, they wanted to know where to find "the sex books." I quashed the flood of sarcastic replies that arrived in my head and merely stated: "500, Biology." They went, got books, attempted to take them out, failed, left them on the tables in the lower library, where I plan to make them shelve at luncthime tomorrow. I am not evil at all.
Sam and her slasher protegée, Kath, were helpful enough in removing them from the library. Miranda probably would have helped, but the poor girl is condemned to hours of voluntary service. Earlier, she was discussing the need for a PoA DVD drinking game. Having reached the same conclusion more or less independely, I was amused. I was feeling generally stressed today anyway because Mrs Barry was out and I was supposed to be keeping an eye on things. I did this by eating lunch in there - pizza bread type thing, plus a lemon muffin the size of British Columbia - and glaring at people indiscriminately.
And General Studies, later. Whoop. My mentors were absent, as they appear to have taken to standing me up on a regular basis. And then going home seemed to be in order, finally. I am so tired I'm falling asleep in lessons. I would have taken a nap this afternoon if I'd actually had the afternoon off. Instead, I have a feeling essay-writing is on the agenda, despite the fact I have no idea what Political Action Committees actually are.
I have a feeling I ought to update with something of substance, as I haven't now for several days, but nothing of substance is actually happening. Day in, day out, same old same old, and I am a little peeved by my continuing lack of response from UCAS concerning any university or course. I have some letters of acknowledgement telling me not to expect anything until March (thanking you kindly) and one from Oxford telling me my second choice colleges (St Edmund Hall and Keble), also not telling me to expect a call to interview until four days (December 1st) in advance. Surely I can be forgiven for finding this just a little nervewracking. I was sort of expecting something from Bristol, because Becky got rejected the other day without interview. Emma's reassuring explanation for this is maybe they're rejecting us in alphabetical order. She can afford to be cheerful, as her call for interview at Cambridge has come through. So has Patrick's.
So blah is the emotion of the moment, and monotony the theme. This weekend my parents are going out for most of Saturday, and my decidedly rock 'n' roll plan of action is staying in and watching all of Miranda's season seven Buffy videos, and the weekend following is the joint birthday party of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
purplerainbow and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
osiris13. Which reminds me, I still have to actually buy Clare's present. I had something in mind, which is now all skew-wiff and will probably make an appearance at Christmas.
And blah for Christmas, too - my habitual denial of all things Noel will be even more pronounced this year, as Oxford rejection letters tend to come the week before.
To finish this on a depressing note - what, me depressing? - it has dawned on me that I really, really don't have any money. The money in my purse at the moment totals one pound ten (was two pounds, but the lemon muffin and pizza-thing claimed the rest). I can't teach for the simple reason that I have no pupils. My former students have all gone to better things, and no-one has answered any of my newer adverts. And as for getting a job, well. Pedar is so against the idea he's actively stopping me from job hunting. Says he doesn't want to be a dictatorial parent, but...
I said if he was as liberal as he makes out, he wouldn't object. He still says no. I said he was selling out. He said no. I wailed. He said no.
I have tried everything, and finally come up with a foolproof plan. Don't buy anything.
Which is all very well in theory.
Moving on from things sartorial, a week on I am still pissed off at my loss of Wednesday afternoon in favour of sodding General Studies. As said before, it is such a fundamentally illogical subject. Last year in January (it was the exam I had on my birthday) I took the French and Culture and Arts - I got an A on the former and failed the latter. When I say failed, I mean it - we're talking two or three marks out of a possible twenty-five. I have no idea how I did that without trying. Failing with style, Pedar called it. In June, I resat the exams having done no lessons or revision in the meantime - and got full marks on both. An exam in which something like this happens seems to qualify as having something wrong with it. This year, I have Chemistry module four (Further Organic and Thermodynamic Chemistry) on my birthday, eighteenth no less.
But, unfortunately, if I want a Jubilee scholarship (and I do) I will have to take the exams and "pass them at the highest level." Blah. Still, three thousand pounds is a nice, nice amount of money.
Anyway, moving on. Life seems its ridiculous self - I now have stalkers, plural. I had one, Lizzie-from-the-Drama-Festival's younger sister, who is both incredibly annoying and persistent, but I now have acquired a veritable gang. Yesterday, they wanted to know where to find "the sex books." I quashed the flood of sarcastic replies that arrived in my head and merely stated: "500, Biology." They went, got books, attempted to take them out, failed, left them on the tables in the lower library, where I plan to make them shelve at luncthime tomorrow. I am not evil at all.
Sam and her slasher protegée, Kath, were helpful enough in removing them from the library. Miranda probably would have helped, but the poor girl is condemned to hours of voluntary service. Earlier, she was discussing the need for a PoA DVD drinking game. Having reached the same conclusion more or less independely, I was amused. I was feeling generally stressed today anyway because Mrs Barry was out and I was supposed to be keeping an eye on things. I did this by eating lunch in there - pizza bread type thing, plus a lemon muffin the size of British Columbia - and glaring at people indiscriminately.
And General Studies, later. Whoop. My mentors were absent, as they appear to have taken to standing me up on a regular basis. And then going home seemed to be in order, finally. I am so tired I'm falling asleep in lessons. I would have taken a nap this afternoon if I'd actually had the afternoon off. Instead, I have a feeling essay-writing is on the agenda, despite the fact I have no idea what Political Action Committees actually are.
I have a feeling I ought to update with something of substance, as I haven't now for several days, but nothing of substance is actually happening. Day in, day out, same old same old, and I am a little peeved by my continuing lack of response from UCAS concerning any university or course. I have some letters of acknowledgement telling me not to expect anything until March (thanking you kindly) and one from Oxford telling me my second choice colleges (St Edmund Hall and Keble), also not telling me to expect a call to interview until four days (December 1st) in advance. Surely I can be forgiven for finding this just a little nervewracking. I was sort of expecting something from Bristol, because Becky got rejected the other day without interview. Emma's reassuring explanation for this is maybe they're rejecting us in alphabetical order. She can afford to be cheerful, as her call for interview at Cambridge has come through. So has Patrick's.
So blah is the emotion of the moment, and monotony the theme. This weekend my parents are going out for most of Saturday, and my decidedly rock 'n' roll plan of action is staying in and watching all of Miranda's season seven Buffy videos, and the weekend following is the joint birthday party of
purplerainbow and osiris13. Which reminds me, I still have to actually buy Clare's present. I had something in mind, which is now all skew-wiff and will probably make an appearance at Christmas.And blah for Christmas, too - my habitual denial of all things Noel will be even more pronounced this year, as Oxford rejection letters tend to come the week before.
To finish this on a depressing note - what, me depressing? - it has dawned on me that I really, really don't have any money. The money in my purse at the moment totals one pound ten (was two pounds, but the lemon muffin and pizza-thing claimed the rest). I can't teach for the simple reason that I have no pupils. My former students have all gone to better things, and no-one has answered any of my newer adverts. And as for getting a job, well. Pedar is so against the idea he's actively stopping me from job hunting. Says he doesn't want to be a dictatorial parent, but...
I said if he was as liberal as he makes out, he wouldn't object. He still says no. I said he was selling out. He said no. I wailed. He said no.
I have tried everything, and finally come up with a foolproof plan. Don't buy anything.
Which is all very well in theory.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2004-11-17 09:30 am (UTC)S'French, innit? Cor du Roi - something of the king. (I have no idea whether or not that's true, but hey - it works!)
no subject
on 2004-11-18 06:56 am (UTC)Sounds like that particular test is badly written; I can't think why you'd be able to put in the same amount of effort both times and yet fail once.
I always hated waiting for the rejection letters; It didn't help that my mother had vetoed all the colleges I really wanted to go to. That's what I got for using the phrase "college experience" when trying to explain why I wanted to go to a major university. Maybe you're waiting so long because they're seriously considering your application.
Simtra won't let me get a job either and I've tried all the same ploys. Traditional men are a pain sometimes.
What kind of chocolate do you want? I was down there the day before yesterday and they have everything from plain chocolate to things like pumpkin spice, peanut butter, and chocolate chip mint with macademia nuts. Do you like other sweets? There's a nifty little candy shop in the old part of the town which makes these lovely rock candy sticks and other sweets from scratch. I'll include post cards of the town so you'll know why this place is so special. Think Old World Colonial...