Excitement and apathy

Crikey, it’s been a while since I last wrote, a whole month in fact. Apologies to those who faithfully follow my blog (haha), I’m sure you’ve been eagerly pining for my return.

Well, this is only a quick one, I’m afraid. I won’t do you the injustice of not explaining my absence though. My reasons are fairly pathetic, ironic, or valid, depending on who you are. Basically it is that time of the term again where essays need to be written. Those arseholes of essays. The use of the not-so-harsh-as-one-that-might-have-been word ‘arseholes’ there might have been because I was seeking a word better tuned to my new found love-hate relationship with the relentlessly merciless intellectual enlightenment form. Yes, I did just imply I don’t actually have too great a problem with essay writing. Why? It isn’t just because the only thrills in my life at the moment are looking forward to the time when the central heating comes on, or when I discover a half-drunk stale Fosters buried in the fridge. Although I am currently writing two four-thousand word essays at a time, which might initially sound like an extraordinary act of insanity, I promise I haven’t resorted to jumping from a fifth storey window or drunkenly crashing my car into a lake yet. This is because I have worked out an ingenious and highly efficient system to in fact minimise the impact essay writing has on my life. Because after all, I’m so busy all the time, being a student and all.

I am going to bore you with the details, since I am ironically procrastinating writing essays today. Ha. According to my somewhat limited mathematical skills, I have calculated that if I start writing a month before the deadline I only need to write 133 words per essay per day. This means I can ramble and bullsh*t for all of about half an hour (it does take that long to write that many words thanks to having to sift through piles of text to try and find some random quote from some radical intellectual which instantly makes personal arguments completely valid, no matter how much other bullsh*t they contain) and then continue on with my life. As it happens, I normally average more than this per day, meaning I have nearly finished both essays, some twenty days before the deadline. Yesss.

Despite this, this time around I have picked questions which I actually find more stimulating than watching anti-climb paint dry. For one module, I am writing about people who write about writing itself, which, after five minutes or so, makes my head explode. For the other, I am writing about the butch-ness of Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) in the Alien films. At least with regards to her nearly being semi-naked and waltzing around shooting phallic sadistic aliens with massive guns in the first two films, nearly makes something else explode. Say no more.

I can see this is quickly becoming a not-quick post, but I’m not going to go back and edit it or delete bits, because, quite frankly, you should be interested in every aspect of my massively exciting life. With regards to the short story, I will admit it has rather taken a place on the back burner, writing 266 academic words of an essay a day takes a phenomenal toll on one. It will, inevitably be released, and it will, inevitably, no matter how much time I end up spending on it, be utter rubbish.

Anyways, there’s not much more to say… of course, having about -£500 in the bank, I don’t have much else going on, although last Friday night, of which I mostly cannot remember, must have been a particularly exciting night, because on Saturday  I awoke in an incredibly awkward contorted position and aching in places I never even knew could ache.

Perhaps I should go back to watching anti-climb paint dry after all.

When something next happens in my hectic and chaotic life, you’ll be the first to know.

Peace.

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I’ll do it later

Garfield 'I don't do mornings' Morning all.

There, that says it all. That’s not intended to be a joke or sarcastic or even some light casual form of humour highlighting the improper usage of time specific greetings in any way. I genuinely thought it was morning when I wrote that, before suddenly realising ‘no, you’ve been asleep for what most other people call morning. Morning is from 12am till 11:59:59am, despite the fact a nuclear war couldn’t wake you, time and space doesn’t wait for you to wake up, because you are a lazy mofo.’ So here I am shocked that it’s already half past three and all I have done is eat some supermarket brand Shreddies, shower, made a cup of tea that would even put hairs on Chuck Norris’ chest, but which tastes like what I imagine stinging nettles to taste, half eaten a sausage roll, and crafted a pathetic excuse for a peanut butter sandwich using ancient bread that crumbles like my Mum’s pastry. That is genuinely all I have done.

On the odd occasion I miss being at work. Not only is this shocking and wrong, but it’s also ironic. When I am at work, the last thing I want is to be there. But I am occupied and doing something that might one day vaguely help mankind in some way, and I am getting paid for it. Still, I would quite like to not be there but somewhere where my relentlessly lazy existence doing whatever I want whenever might be noticed and result in some benefit. At Uni’, when I have exhausted literally every means of keeping oneself occupied (and I mean every means) , I am very occasionally drawn to wanting to be made to move my arse and go out and do something, and the first thing that comes off my head is to be at work. But this never happens. To be fair, I do write up lecture notes and do perhaps read a word or two of the reading I’m supposed to do, and ponder the difficulties of future essays, but overall a massive amount of the time is spent literally doing what some like to call ‘f*ck all.’

In a more polite – and accurate – sense, one might call it the practice of procrastination. For those of you not versed with the definitions of common studentisms, I will quote you the Oxford English Dictionary definition of procrastination, because I am an English student, and it makes me look like I do things properly, and the OED is boss:

procrastination

Pronunciation:/prə(ʊ)ˌkrastɪˈneɪʃ(ə)n/

noun
[mass noun]
the action of delaying or postponing something:
  your first tip is to avoid procrastination

Phrases
procrastination is the thief of time
proverb if you delay doing something, it will take longer to do later on:
 maybe TV and procrastination really are the thieves of time

And this, my friends, embodies the entirety of most students’ existences whilst at University. Like chlamydia, it’s an awkward disease that unknowingly infects a large majority of students. It’s a case of promising yourself that you will ‘write the introduction to that essay’ or ‘plan that assignment’ or ‘read some of that article I should have read last week’ or ‘go and make dinner because it’s 11:30 at night and you’ve been hungry for the last 7 hours.’ It suits every part of our lives to the letter… or is it just me? It gets really bad when one thinks ‘I should stop watching TV and go to bed in a minute.’ Mix procrastination with sleep, and, either way, you are destined to be chewed up and spat out by fail itself.

Indeed, I have deadlines looming on the distant but inevitable horizon and some 10,000 words to somehow spew out in a creative and professional manner before Christmas, and I am using my time procrastinating to write this blog, when I should really ‘write the introduction to that essay.’

I think I’ll stop now and procrastinate later…

Hmm…

'Hmm' in a thought bubble

So it’s day three of having a blog and so far it seems to be lookin’ good. I quite like the design I made, looks retro and colourful – a combination I think is pretty cool, don’t you?

However, the writing side of things is not so great, mainly because I have nothing particularly specific to write about on this occasion. I had no idea what to call this post, sitting here gazing at the ceiling and making periodic ‘hmm’ sounds in my head since all other tangible thoughts and sources of inspiration were non-existent, ergo, the above title stuck. The said ‘hmm’ event in my head, which was the only recognisable thing my Friday evening brain could be bothered to create, suddenly materialised as an audible spoken sound, physically representing my blankness of thought, and then it became an idea of what to call the post. However my sensibility overtook and suggested this was a pointless title. But then I asked myself  ‘what am I going to write about anyway?’ More hmm-ing ensued.

What a brilliant promise of success for an English student… still, it’s better than spending 8 hours attempting to begin writing an essay and only writing the word ‘the’ before feeling satisfied with oneself and declaring ‘that’s enough for today’ before retiring to bed content in the belief that something incredible has been achieved today. But that’s another story altogether.

So because I fail at spontaneously finding the inspiration to write about something that normally overwhelms my brain with a chaotic concoction of thoughts that really should be released like a demonic honey badger from a brazen bull, and because I’m hungry, and need to eat, and then spend the rest of this evening probably doing what I have basically been doing the whole week, which is idly existing pretty much analogous to the life of a runt housefly maggot, I am going to finish this blog here. Wow, have I written that much already?

I have spent all afternoon procrastinating over writing up two pages of lecture notes and during this procrastination, I write this

May God have mercy on your souls when I actually find something to blog about.

Over and out.