jampy

Quite often when I'm writing I'll use a word then realise I don't know what it means and, quite often, don't recall ever having heard it used. I look it up and, sure enough, it's exactly what I mean. Do other people get words stuck in their head? Usually for me it's a word with a delicious sound pattern or rhythm, such as 'carbuncle', but recently I had 'abraxis' stuck in my head, and I could have sworn it was a word I came across in psycholinguistics which refers to conditions where the facility of language is lost. I was wrong about that, and if anyone can tell me what the word for that is, I'd be grateful. It turns out that 'abraxis' is a variational spelling of 'abraxas', a Gnostic solar deity and word used as a charm because of its numerological values and also possibly the word from which 'abracadabra' was derived. I've never studied gnosticism and can't think of where I could've come across this word, although it's possible that Andrew said something about it as he's been doing some work on Gnosticism lately. It seems as if I'm just putting together interesting combinations of sounds in my head, which sometimes happen to be words, except that I don't recall ever having a non-word stuck in my head.

Listening: Local God - Everclear

I am the best sister ever. I went op-shopping with my mum this morning. I purchased a wonderful grey corduroy jacket and some new Globe sneakers. (Globe are my favourite brand because they have wompy arch-support, which is what I need with my crazy feet.) I also got a lovely long lace shift about the colour of morning glory (or perhaps a bit darker) with a matching cardigan thing. The big sister came home about half an hour later to get dressed for a wedding and found all her old standbys were misbehaving in one way or another. I brought out the new dress, she tried it on and it was perfect. "That colour looks great on you. Bitch." She put on her shoes and left, promising not to steal it long-term. I might not get it back, of course, and since my sister is a bit bigger and shorter than I am it's quite possible that it won't fit me well. Instead, I may request she buy me a new dress in fair exchange.

Listening: Dracula from Houston - Butthole Surfers

Chamber of Secrets - The Experience
After being so excited about seeing the film for so long, it seemed only fitting to write something a bit more extensive about it, since it's all I've been telling anyone I know today. It's late, and I'm tired, so my comments on the film itself can wait. Spoilers abound.

We arrived at the cinema 30 minutes before the session was due to begin and found the enormous foyer full - several hundred people were queuing for the 7:45 sessions. My reaction was to do what you should always do when faced with a line you don't want to stand in - I sent my sister to join the queue then went to see the relevant authority figure, in this case the usher on point, to see if the queue situation was really as bad as it seemed.

"Excuse me, I'm in Cinema Three. Where do I need to queue?"

A gang of silly-looking teenage girls were self-consciously chanting "Go, go, Gryffindor!" at the front of the queue, and the usher looked flustered.

"For Cinema Three you can go right in."

Stunned at my luck, I thanked him then doubled back to get my placeholder (Abby), dodging a friend and his family on the way. She couldn't believe we didn't have to queue, either, and despite being really very early for our session, we ran towards the cinema. When we paused at point to get our tickets torn, the cheer girls breathlessly asked us where we got my red velvet cloak, Abby's maroon-and-gold scarf. In my needless haste, I claimed that we had made them. It seemed far too difficult and time-consuming to explain that my cloak had been a prototype from one of my favourite shops in Newtown, costing an almost embarrassingly small amount of money, while Abby's scarf was of even humbler origins - maroon and gold were the colours of my first school, and we found the scarf at the bottom of my mother's wardrobe, so it was probably purchased at a uniform shop fifteen years ago.

We found Cinema Three almost empty. It was a relatively small theatre, but I was willing to forego the Cinemaxx experience in exchange for avoiding that queue - nay, throng - outside. After all, I'll probably see it again with Andrew in a giant cinema when it's less frantic.

We sat ourselves in the middle, four rows from the front, and watched still advertisements with startlingly low picture quality as the cinema filled, congratulating ourselves at getting such good seats and jamping merrily at the prospect of seeing the much-anticipated film.

While there were still several free rows, a woman came and asked if the seats in the centre of our row were free.

"Sure," I informed her, "but there are only two."

"That's alright," she replied, and steered two girls of around twelve years of age into the seats before joining a partner and other children in seats at the side, further at the back. Very strange. We moved up a seat, as it is always a bit strange sitting next to someone you don't know when there's an obvious alternative, but this seat was taken by a young man just as the film was starting. He went on to distinguish himself by stepping on my belongings as he went to the bathroom, and then again on the way back.

The advantage of such a crowded cinema lies in the emotions - hearing everyone laugh or gasp at the same time as you heightens your feeling that your own reactions were appropriate. There was widespread applause when Vernon fell out the window, as well as quiet apprehension when Dobby was clearly threatening the hideous pudding. As far as I'm aware, I was the only person to scream when one of Aragog's children busted through the Anglia's window and proceeded to throttle Ron. But it's hard to say, as I was concentrating more on the film and my own reactions than anyone else's.

After the film, Abby and I waited through the credits as every single member of the audience shuffled noisily out, as I had read somewhere that there was something extra awaiting the patient. Naturally, my pleasure at this bonus was heightened at its exclusivity - all those who got up the second the film finished missed it.

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Listening: You and Me Song - The Wannadies

Capricorn
The party's over. Spilled wine is drying on the rug. The cheese dip is rancid. You'd go to bed but the pleasurable hum in your head turned into a nasty buzz a while back. But wait. What's this? As you grab your toothpaste from the medicine cabinet, you see a piece of folded paper. Opening it up, you find a mysterious invitation. Did someone at the party leave it here? "I didn't have a chance to get you alone at the party," it reads, "but I have important questions to ask you about mutually beneficial matters. Call me soon." A phone number follows. The scenario I've described may not literally occur this week, Capricorn, but it's an apt metaphor.

So, we got to the cinema at 4 and, seeing the huge crowds, tried to buy tickets to the 5pm session. No joy. The 4:30 session and the 5:00 session were both sold out, as were the two concurrent screenings at 6:20. We managed to get tickets for 7:45, and that's probably only because they have two sessions then as well. I saw a friend in the queue and when I mentioned that we couldn't get tickets he patronisingly advised us that we should have booked a week ahead. Not very sensitive, when we were clearly disappointed, and not exactly helpful either. I mean, really, I decided against pre-booking tickets because I don't have a credit card or a source of income, both of which he knows. Bah.

But this is good. We now have time for dinner, and to get a bit swanked up. There's time for more enthusing as well. I'm tempted to read the book again in the time remaining. The only problem is that Abby has school tomorrow and we won't get home until after eleven. I have the feeling I'm the bad sister who leads the good one astray, but Abby denies this.

Listening: I Want It Now - Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets comes out today in Australia! Happy dance. I thought I would be unable to see it until Andrew could get free tickets, but after really a very small quantity of begging and pleading, the mother kindly granted funds so that we can see it tonight. There is great joy. Abby's meeting me at our local shopping mall megaplex at 4pm. Which is less than two hours away. I had better move my arse or I won't have time to iron my cape.

Listening: Ode to Harry Potter - Switchblade Kittens

On Synesthesia
There is one notable area of signification in my life, however, for which I cannot identify any experiential basis: I experience a mild and apparently common form of synesthesia, whereby numbers and, occasionally, smells are inextricably linked with colours. The strongest link occurs between the number four and the colour red, while green is three, yellow two and blue one. Purple is linked, although more weakly, to five, and it can be seen that a simple mathematical relationship exists between these colours as it does to the numbers they signify and are signified by. Six signifies a pinkish-orange colour that is also connected to the smell of one of my sister’s perfumes. Brown is connected to nine so strongly that I have, in the past, experienced difficulty in breaking through the concept of brown to find the answer to a simple arithmetical problem. This difficulty seems to arise not so much from the strength of the bond, as from the unfamiliarity of the connection: I cannot remember there being a time in which four wasn’t linked to red, but the connection between nine and brown was one I was not conscious of, such that when I found ‘brown’ in my brain I could not interpret it as a signifier of nine.

This is an extract from a recent essay I wrote for my Semiotics course. It is yet to be seen whether the lecturer finds my brain bizarre operations as intriguing as I do. However, the woman was thrilled to find a photocopy of a sock in my last essay, so chances are fairly good.

Today I added that big clunky Babelfish translator you see at right. I added it because a lot of people have been reading my stuff in Italian and French, and this should make that easier. However, it should be noted that I'm still a hardcore Google user, and I haven't even added my page to AltaVista or any other search engines yet. The giantness of the button may get to me and I may choose to remove it.

The giant fan is a godsend. I stood in front of it, still wet from my shower, and felt delightfully frozen on the outside. It's currently 37° and the forecast maximum is 40°. I certainly won't be wearing boots today. On the upside, my shirt dried in fifteen minutes.

I'm going out for the usual Tuesday night dinner with friends, and afterwards there's a roleplaying session. Last week didn't go so well, for a bunch of reasons I didn't enjoy, so let's just hope it's better this time.

Listening: Rebel Rouser - Duane Eddy

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Listening: Cigarettes Will Kill You - Ben Lee

I think we can all agree that it shouldn't be 30°C after sunset. It was about 39°C in the city earlier today, and this being a coastal capital it rarely gets that hot. I, of course, was stuck in the city, sweating, developing body odour and handing out resumes to whoever would take them. I was wearing a hawaiian shirt, jeans and boots, which happened to be the clothes I had at Andrew's this morning. Never again. When I arrived home I found our house considerably cooler than the outside world, and an hour or so ago I dragged the giant fan up from the garage. It is wonderful, although I should remember not to turn it up to 'high' - I nearly blew myself away last time.

Sunday with Andrew was wonderful. We usually manage to meet up at some point on the weekend, but it's often in the afternoon or even the evening. This time we reverted to the patterns of our early relationship, and met at 10:30am for a movie. Naturally, I was out of practice at being up so early on a weekend, so I decided to set my alarm. I decided that 7:00 would be a good time - I like to allow about three hours between when I wake up and when I have to be wherever. However, I had been thinking of the time I had to catch my bus as being my arrival time, so I thought 7:30 was possibly cutting it a bit fine, as the bus was due to arrive at 9:43. In any case, it was very early in the morning when I went to bed, and I couldn't be bothered adjusting my alarm clock, so I woke up at 6:30. I then proceeded to fall asleep on the bus and yawn through the film we saw. I regained my energy after an afternoon nap, however.

A side note: I do see a lot of films, don't I? Andrew gets free film tickets so we see one film at the cinema per week. This weekend it was Crackerjack, which I really enjoyed. I also saw EdTV on TV and Mansfield Park on video. Both were great. I don't realise how many films I see until I see the evidence of them. I found a wad of ticket stubs in my wallet the other day. There I had tickets to My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Minority Report, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Bend It Like Beckham, Spiderman, Monsters Inc., Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Fellowship of the Ring, HPatPS (again), Jurassic Park 3, Shrek, Pay it Forward, Chocolat, Billy Elliot, and Pokemon 2.

In an old wallet box on my desk, I have stubs for The Matrix, Star Trek: Insurrection, The Avengers, The Truman Show, Sliding Doors, Grease, Good Will Hunting, Topless Women Talk About Their Lives, The Graduate, The Full Monty, George of the Jungle, One Fine Day, Beavis and Butthead Do America, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Mars Attacks, A Very Brady Sequel, RHPS (again), Romeo + Juliet, RHPS (again), Dragonheart, 101 Dalmatians, Emma, ID4 and Mission Impossible. There are two tickets left over with the print somehow rendered invisible by age on the shiny thermal ticket paper, and three stubs from cinemas so very alternative that they don't print any information on the ticket, it's just a little green ticket saying "Admit One $8.00". I'd say they're probably from Valhalla, back when they were oh-so-low-tech, and I saw such classics there as Chacun cherche son chat and the Worst Films Ever double feature - Plan Nine From Outer Space plus Robot Monster. The Dragonheart ticket is especially significant, as that was the first time Andrew and I went out all official-like. We spent a great deal of the film laughing at the crapness of it all, especially at the argyle patterned mail shirt that one of the characters was wearing.

Listening: I Can't Say No - Poe

Capricorn
You know how it's possible to expedite the blooming of plants by cultivating them in a greenhouse? I propose that you find a comparable approach to use on your growing anxieties. In other words, Capricorn, compel your worries to mature very rapidly. That way, instead of torturing you with a slow proliferation of half-conscious apprehensions for the next four weeks, they'll ripen overnight into their full-blown state. You'll be able to have a climactic showdown with them by the end of this week, and then move on to more enjoyable explorations. Schedule your worrygasm -- the orgasmic culmination of your worries -- for no later than November 27.

I dug through the newspaper today looking for jobs. There were two I liked. One requires I send an application, and the other was a brief advertisement about work in an inner-city bookstore. I called and, naturally, it was an 'adult' bookstore. My immediate response was to laugh and tell the woman on the phone that that didn't sound like my kind of thing. I then hung up, and proceeded to get excited about the idea of such a change from my previous jobs. I called again and found out that the store I'd be working in is in the absolute sleaziest part of Sydney, and I would have a lot of trouble travelling there, let alone home again late at night. And now I'm enthused about the idea of working in a similar position, but can't find any takers.

A word on keyboard cleaning: Don't. Yes, it would be nice to type without the accompanying crunch of biscuit crumbs and squelch of sweet chilli sauce. But you'll pull the damn thing apart, painstakingly lining up the keys as you remove them, and a few seconds after this task is completed you'll trail the keyboard cord through this battalion and be left in complete confusion as to the placement of the bizarre keys that you never use. After reassembly your index fingers will burn, inflamed from a thousand tiny cuts like those dealt you by pistachios of Christmases past.

Listening: Rollercoaster - Machine Gun Fellatio

I'm wondering if I should adopt "If you can't say anything interesting, don't say anything at all" as my motto. It's not that nothing is happening, it's just that I'm bored. And if you're bored, then you're boring. I spent my day today reading fanfic and making banana bread. I was so excited about making said banana bread that family members grew frustrated and almost snappish with my enthusiastic comments regarding my upcoming culinary activities. I put too much baking powder in, so that it's less dense than I like it, but still very nice.

Tomorrow will probably be spent lamenting the fact that in two days I've read all 62 currently extant instalments of the epic fic I've been reading - and I blame Julia for that, in the nicest possible way. Still, the writer updates frequently, and that's more than I can say for myself. I'm considering also watching some films, as The Princess Bride has been calling to me for a while now, and it's right there on the shelf. My beloved copy of The Goonies may also be played, and I've been harbouring a desire to rent The Sound of Music and A Knight's Tale, both of which it shall eventually be more economical for me to purchase outright.

When I was a child, my mother had little sympathy when I complained of boredom, and refused to do anything to ameliorate the tedium. "Boredom is a state of mind," she said. I think the only way to snap myself out of it is to get out of the house and do something. I might take a trip into town and watch people for an afternoon. This plan has significant merits, as people-watching frequently brings my head out of my arse, as well as the fact that I could thrust resumes upon anyone who would take them while I was there. Ultimately, having a job and money would help stave away the tedium and uselessness.

Listening: Jupiter from The Planets - Gustav Holst (London Symphony Orchestra)

On Tuesday afternoon, I saw My Big Fat Greek Wedding. After hearing so many positive reviews, I must say I was rather disappointed. I found the voice-over narration tiresome, as it was pointedly identifying obvious points in the story. Also on Tuesday afternoon, I realised that I had left my student card in my Italian exam. Now, a student card is many things. It serves as photo identification for such things as exams, it's a library card and, possibly most importantly, the bearer is entitled to significant discounts on transport. Without it I had to pay adult fares, and so it was with great relief that I regained it today.

I'm not very good at not having anything to do - my exams are over and I'm free, while my friends still have assessments to go. So I've been reading a lot. I finished Generation X yesterday, as well as reading all of The Simple Gift. Both were okay, but nothing fantastic. I've moved onto The King's Fifth, as well as working my way through The Complete Grimm's Fairy Tales. I'm feeling awfully useless. Tomorrow I'm making my famous banana bread and in a few days I'll apply for more jobs.

Listening: Voodoo Lady - Ween

I fell down some stairs on the way to my exam yesterday. Not a lot of stairs, mind, nor did I fall over. My feet just slipped out from under me then caught, judderingly, a few stairs down. My legs hurt when I bend them, but it's just a tired-muscle pain, rather than the torn-or-otherwise-mangled-muscle pain that it could be. The part that disturbs me is that I forgot that this happened.

My exams are over. Italian was horrible. I'm pleased it's all over for the year, but I'm feeling quite anticlimactic. I live in pleasant anticipation of several relaxed days of reading and writing. I do wish someone would give me a job, though.

The Ancient History exam was okay. Not as bad as I was expecting, but given my imaginings involved the pits of hell opening up to swallow me up due to the astonishing mediocrity of my writings, I suppose that's not saying too much. I think my essays were about average, possibly slightly better, but since I had the most horrendous, wonderful teacher for the subject in high school, I feel I'm failing someone if I don't write upwards of six pages per essay. We had to do regular essays for class on whatever we were studying at the time, and once I accidentally wrote eleven pages on the Flavians. Now I'm astonished by the intensiveness of the undertaking, and the fact that things are lower-key at university.

The Italian exam is tomorrow and I'm much more likely to actually do badly in that, but I've been studying for that relatively consistently and even a few marks in the exam should help me pass.

Listening: Little Cocobean - Mailbox

I have an exam tomorrow. Oh god. I'm hugely underprepared, but mostly I just can't get my head around the idea that I will, in fact, have to sit an exam tomorrow morning. This is bad. Anyone have any suggestions to offer for clarifying my reality? That oral sex button's not just for show, either.

Listening: Make It Go Away - Holly Cole

The fourth instalment of my hp fic is up here. I'm not sure it's entirely how I want it, but I really wanted to get that section out of the way. If it bothers me too much, I can change it later. And now I become a complete review-whore. One of my readers has put me on their 'Favourite Authors' page. This fills me with joy.

Some of you may know that I'm a procrastinator. I worry endlessly about stuff, usually academic stuff, and convince myself that it's terrible and everything in my life is going wrong. Today I did a stack of work. I'm much less stressed about exams now. Perhaps this is a lesson I should remember: exams are much less scary when you actually do some work. Difficult tasks are much easier when you do them. And no matter how difficult a task seems, it's a whole lot easier than feeling sick every time you think about it. I probably won't remember, though. I also wholeheartedly recommend running at night, when the air is cool, crisp and scented with gardenias, and there aren't any trucks or annoying people around. My back feels astonishingly straight and tall.

Listening: Devil Went Down To Newport - Mono Puff

Last night: Went for a run with Abby around 8pm. Came back feeling wonderfully refreshed, stretched and alive. Also felt motivated about study and less woeful about exams. Very, very early this morning: Went to bed around 2am. Couldn't sleep for the life of me, and instead turned to stress about impending failure of Italian course. Fixed it up eventually, am feeling okayish about exams, I just wish I didn't have to do them.

Now am off op-shopping with my Mum. It's astonishing the kind of impulse buying that's acceptable when things are so cheap. I turn into Veruca Salt. I got a martini glass last week, just because it was cool.

Listening: Do Your Thing - Basement Jaxx

Any day is a lovely day to get caught in the rain when your state is 99% drought affected. It's currently raining heavily, and that's wonderful.

I handed in the essay. It's somewhere between 'okay' and 'good', but I'm currently feeling emotionally exhausted and thus unable to evaluate it properly. Hell, I'm just too neurotic to evaluate my work properly. I'm also too emotionally exhausted to think about studying, and I have exams on Monday and Tuesday. I have to learn a fair bit about Ancient History and Italian before then. I'll be studying all weekend, and Andrew has to work a lot, so we won't be seeing much of each other. I'm feeling jampy already, and I won't see him till Tuesday. Ah, the many meanings of 'jampy'.

My vastly overdue instalment of my hp fic is nearly ready to go, but fanfiction.net is broken. Again.

Listening: Flagpole Sitta - Harvey Danger

Well. It seems that I have far fewer words than I need. I've typed up almost all I have, and I still have less than half the word limit. The thing is, my writing style is rather concise, so my essays tend to say what needs to be said in fewer words than a lot of others, and I refuse to waffle to pad the word count. My essays are regularly 500 words short of the word limit, and I've never had anyone comment on it or mark me down. Still, I feel like a dickhead here. I'm going to finish typing this up, pack up and go into uni to finish it up. I find the atmosphere in the computer labs there tends to be just opressive enough to make me finish essays quickly. I can't write essays on the computer from the beginning, though, because my writing becomes far more formal and analytical when I write on a computer, and I can't write things for fear of them being not quite perfect. I may have to work to conquer this tendency, or I will become even more reliant upon notebooks. How is it that I can waffle no end here, but not in my essay?

Listening: McDonalds Girl - Barenaked Ladies

Now over halfway! I rock. If I poke in two more pages she'll be sweet. Nearly bedtime, but I'm trying to find a copy of the song I've got stuck in my head.

Singing: The Sun Has Got His Hat On
The sun has got his hat on
Hip hip hip hooray
The sun has got his hat on and is coming out to play
Now we'll all be happy
Hip hip hip hooray
The sun has got his hat on and is coming out to play

I've written a bit more, am now at 1/3 of the total word count. The plan is to write another page or two, hope for the best for tomorrow. I'm tired of essays. I'm tired of the prospect of exams. I'm even tired of not studying. I need to stick it out for another five days, and then I'm free. I'll do what I can in exams, but I'd really rather not have a nervous breakdown this year. I'd prefer not to vomit at the thought of exams. Understandable, I think. By the way, I started reading the Sound of Music book when I was on the bus going in to uni, and I'm hooked. It's true, it's even better than the film, and strikingly different in facts and focus. Interestingly, I'm 55 pages in and they're already married. I have to wonder what adventures they had after marriage that weren't even mentioned in the film. I have a feeling that this will subtract significantly from my studying, but I had to have a distraction of some kind. If it wasn't this, it'd be something else.

Listening: The Lonely Goatherd - The Sound of Music

Three hours later, and I've written perhaps another 200 words. It's not a big deal, I can hand it in tomorrow with only 2% penalty, but I feel like a lazy bastard. Also, I have exams on Monday and Tuesday, and I'm scared I won't have time to study for them if I don't get it done. Hell, I'm worried it's already too late, and I'll fail Italian whatever I do. I just wasted an hour watching the end of the crapness that is Vanished Without A Trace. The writing I do for the essay seems unspeakably crap, and I can scarcely bear writing any more. I might have to write about Michael bloody Dransfield after all, with his, 'oh, look at me, I'm a tortured artist. So very tortured that I set myself up as some kind of Romantic myth of early death, and only by ODing at an early age can I achieve this myth. It's my own damn fault. Oh, the pain!' Bah. Julia seems to be stressed out about her essays in a similar manner to myself. Lots of hugs to her. I'm off to return stinky library books, soon. Maybe some distance from the stinky essay will help.

I'm not going to have a weekend to speak of, am I?

Listening: The King of Bedside Manor - Barenaked Ladies

Have written roughly 500 words of essay, all on Dorothy Hewett as Australian Romantic - visionary and exile. That's not bad, a quarter of essay written by 11am, yes? It's going pretty well, and it looks like I might not have to talk about Michael bloody Dransfield. Don't get me started. Concerned I'll screw around all day, or run out of impetus or things to say, and essay won't get done. Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best. And if you can identify that as a HP reference, you may be a fangirl (fanperson?) of a similar calibre to myself.

Listening: Life Could Be A Dream - The Crew Cuts

So much for writing notes and then getting an early night. We're currently putting the sister's bed together. I know, normal people don't decide to do this at 11pm, but we tend to be a fairly nocturnal family, and that's when we cracked. It requires at least three people, or else bits drop and bend, as they did a minute ago (note to self - buy bolts).

Listening: Pepper - Butthole Surfers

Writing a full essay plan before I begin the essay. I hate second-guessing myself, but is this just me putting off doing the essay itself? It's due tomorrow, by 6:30pm, but I wanted to get a fair whack of it done tonight. It's not looking so likely from here, but full notes and a start on the essay would do.

I find the 'time remaining' figures on downloads strangely hypnotic. I want to cheer whenever the number gets drastically lower, and groan like I'm barracking for the losing team when it rises. In other news, I bought the book on which The Sound of Music was based. It turns out that it's an autobiography, written by Baroness Trapp herself. The film is one of my oldest, dearest favourites. I love all the songs, excepting Sixteen Going On Seventeen, with which I have some issues. And then there's the Baron, played by the delicious Christopher Plummer. He's 75 now, but I still hear him narrating Madeline sometimes, and smile. The book was 10c, and I can't wait to read it. Add that to the terrible list of things I want to do - so enjoyable that they will become chores.

Listening: Pure Imagination - Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

I haven't started writing the English essay due on Thursday. I'm hugely behind with my Italian revision, and I have not yet begun to revise Ancient History. Next Wednesday is looking far away, and yet not far enough, as I will have completed my assessment for this year by then.

From then on, I have many plans. I intend to finish reading Generation X which is, alas, due back at the library tomorrow. I'm also going to read The King's Fifth, the novel that was the inspiration for Mysterious Cities of Gold, a cartoon I remember vaguely from my early childhood with associations of great excitement. I'm becoming fascinated with fairy tales, a bit of a remnant of the eighteenth century literacy essay I wrote earlier this year, and I want to read what fairy tales were like before they were sanitised but, failing that, I'd just like to read the Grimms' take on them. I'm also really interested in fairy tale adaptations of various kinds, and I'm considering reading Fairy Tales for Grown-Ups.

I also want to do a whole stack of writing, ideally finishing my hp fanfic soon, as well as getting the writing challenge going again. I would like to have finished my Pride and Prejudice fic, but I'm nowhere near the mindset needed to get that done. It'd be nice if I could get a job. I want money. I've been poor for months now, and while I prefer that to having to deal with a shitty boss all day and not getting my uni course done, I certainly want to have money by Christmas.

I'm at a roleplaying session. The GM and one of the players are two of the men involved in the three recent breakups I mentioned yesterday, and so we're talking rather than actually having the game, which is fine. Talk has turned to another game by the same GM that all these players are in apart from me, so the host kindly offered me his computer. It's nice to be able to get something done, because I was falling asleep for the previous hour of this extended discussion of Superhero directions, but using someone else's computer is very strange indeed. The keyboard feels funny, the monitor is at the wrong height, and I want to clean the mouse.

Humming: Every Day - Buddy Holly

I have a sickness.
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Listening: 19-2000 - Gorillaz

Weekend was a mess. Saturday was nice, spent time op-shopping with parental unit and ended up with some very nice blue cargo shorts and another addition to my red t-shirt collection. Also several books. This was followed by several hours of hooning around the net with that sluggish post-christmas-dinner feeling of needing a nap. I don't do naps, so I didn't have one, and instead fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow at Andrew's.

Shared a lovely Sunday morning with Andrew. Saw Kissing Jessica Stein, then watched Shrek on DVD. Did no work, but decided that this was okay after having conquered double-object pronouns on Saturday. Another lovely morning together today, breakfast of tea and banana bread, and after such lovely time together, I'm going to be cranky for the next day and a half while I can't see him. I'm spoiled these days, but I still remember when I was in high school and we saw each other once a week.

Badness came in the form of the couple with whom Andrew has been living breaking up. They've been friends of ours for years, separately and together, and it's sad to see them sad. We didn't see much of them, but tension hung over the house like a cloud, like the smell of whatever that is in the back of the fridge. This makes the third breakup in my acquaintance in as many months.

Listening: Ti Kwan Leep - The Frantics

FAIRY TALE

nce upon a time there has a young SPRUIKER named ADBURNAM. He was AUDACIOUSLY ENGRAVING in the BIZARRE forest when he met TASTY PRANCHESTER, a run-away BICYCLE THIEF from the ANDROGYNOUS Queen ARIADNE.

ADBURNAM could see that TASTY PRANCHESTER was hungry so he reached into his TANKARD and give him his FLUORESCENT EGGS. TASTY PRANCHESTER was thankful for ADBURNAM's EGGS, so he told ADBURNAM a very CIBARIOUS story about Queen ARIADNE's daughter JOCASTA. How her mother, the ANDROGYNOUS Queen ARIADNE, kept her locked away in a SHED protected by a gigantic UNICORN, because JOCASTA was so REPTILLIAN.

ADBURNAM ATE. He vowed to TASTY PRANCHESTER the BICYCLE THIEF that he would save the REPTILLIAN JOCASTA. He would SMITE the UNICORN, and take JOCASTA far away from her eveil mother, the ANDROGYNOUS Queen ARIADNE, and LAUGH her.

Then, all of the sudden, there was a STROKABLE THUNDERSTORM and TASTY PRANCHESTER the BICYCLE THIEF began to laugh. With a puff of smoke he turned into the gigantic UNICORN from his story. ANDROGYNOUS Queen ARIADNE HARANGUED out from behind a HAT and struck ADBURNAM dead. In the far off SHED you could hear a BOING.

THE END.

Make your own Fairy Tale at fuali.com

I'm very pleased with Tasty Pranchester the Bicycle Thief. I may have to write some more of his adventures. I'm off to skip through the woods, picnic basket swung merrily in hand, on my way to Andrew's house.

Listening: Wishin' and Hopin' - Ani DiFranco

Domestic Bliss - snark with younger sister
Me: Piss off.
Abby: Ohhh... (not leaving)
Me: What do you want?
Abby: (huffily) A non-psycho sister?
Me: Well, I don't get one.
Abby: Oh come on, Claire's not that bad.

Listening: Mr. Mastodon Farm - Cake

Banana bread is incredible. The quantities are so vast that I made a loaf, a square cakey-shaped loaf and a whole stack of tiny, perfect muffins out of the one batch. The loaf came out of the oven three minutes ago but the muffins, being so tiny, took far less time. I ate one a moment ago, they're wonderfully springy and still just slightly warm, with a slight chewiness to the crust. What joy! And to think it only took me six and a half hours to make them. I exaggerate, of course. The shopping much took longer at that than was strictly necessary, owing to the fact that it's stinking hot today (a baking 37°C (99°F) during the day, and currently 31° (88°F) now that the sun is beginning to set) and it was nice to hide in an air-conditioned building. The preparation itself took quite a while, as it's so hot and the recipe was unfamiliar to me. In any case, I declare this banana bread recipe to be a success. It'd want to be, seeing as my use of the oven has heated the house up.

A stack more quizzes, all hp-related this time: harry | harry's robes | fawkes | ron | dumbledore | ron | hermione | gryffindor | gryffindor | ravenclaw |

Listening: Fishcakes - Bauhaus

I've found my banana bread recipe. All the Australian recipes I found looked far too cakey and not loafish enough. So I've gone with an American one, but this left me with many other areas of confusion, as American cooking nomenclature is evidently very different from Australian. All sorted out, but I am making a few substitutions. It's a giant recipe - we don't have enough overripe bananas so I'll have to buy some more - and when we run out of loaf pans I'm going to make muffins. Will advise of results. Hoon sister is home from school today, because of a foolish mixup with a school excursion. No doubt, after our expedition to purchase walnuts, we will begin the merry dance of irritation.

Listening: Lay Down - Max Sharam

I feel like I got nothing done today. I meant to do a whole heap of Italian, but it didn't get done and it's not going to get done today. So I'm behind with my study. On the other hand, I did read a bunch of the poems for my English essay due next Thursday, and began a plan of attack. I ate some delicious food - I made two of my Grilled Condiment Rolls, with wholegrain mustard, mushroom and garlic bruschetta topping, tomato and cheese.

After those, I was struck by a sudden and unassuagable desire for Ginger Nut biscuits with my tea, and undertook an expedition to the supermarket in order to obtain said biscuits. Unfortunately, the providores had none of my favoured brand of gingernuts (not even for ready money!) so I was left with a lesser, more expensive brand. I find it extraordinary how non-porous these biscuits are - they require repeated dunking to reach a cibarious consistency.

My attempts to find a satisfactory Banana Bread recipe (ideally just like the one they had at the Abominable Homogenous American Coffee Franchise) have been stymied by my refusal to include anything I don't already have in the house, and my contempt for recipes that require more than one bowl. I also resent the suggestion that I should ever have to separate eggs.

I've been doing more quizzes. I'm too vain to have the pictures all through the blog now, so I'll just let you know that I'm: obsessive compulsive | beethoven's fifth | emo | down-to-earth | byron | brak | winters | oscar | witch baby | sweet | mage | moonflower |

Listening: Grim Grinning Ghosts - Barenaked Ladies

I stepped on a rusty nail yesterday. I was in the back yard, taking my washing off the line, when I felt an acute pain in my middle toe. Looking down, I saw that I had stepped on an ancient chunk of wood with rusty nails sticking out of it at random angles. The wood wasn't doing anything, it was just lingering near the fence, waiting to harpoon the unwary. I had been pretty upset about some other things, so at this point, even though it was just a little scratch, I fell apart. I forgot to clean it until today. Now, my foot tingles from the heavy alcohol disinfectant I bathed it in, the aggressively clean smell dizzies me. I imagine that every tiny pain must be a symptom of the tetanus that must ultimately be my untimely demise.

Listening: We Are All Made of Stars - Moby

A friend of mine has been having a lot of problems with body image lately. It makes me really sad, because she's a wonderful person who embraces life and her unhappiness about her body is really keeping her down. I really want to be able to help somehow, to 'fix' it, but of course my opinion is utterly irrelevant to how she sees herself.

I used to have trouble with body image. I'd catch a glimpse of my trouser-clad legs when I sat in a school assembly, or see my butt in the mirror, and feel like crying. I'd weep bitterly about my ugliness, and the lack of self-control I saw as being the cause of it. I'd concoct short-lived plans to lose weight, and be filled with despair when I found myself eating ice cream.

I still have occasional moments like that - mostly when I contemplate wearing a swimsuit, or when Andrew touches my belly in a particular way. But on the whole I like my body. It's strong and healthy. I like the wide sweep of my belly, and the way my hips feel when I hook my thumbs over them, my fingers meeting in the centre of my back. I like the way my thighs feel when I climb a hill, the way my shoulders feel after a good wrestle. I love the way my calves look in tall boots, and how hourglass I look when I dress up in a long skirt and a little top.

Essentially, I love my body because it does all the things it is supposed to, as well as being a sensual adventure. I wish there was some way to bring acceptance and love of the body to all the girls (and, heck, the guys) I've ever known who've been uncomfortable within their bodies. Right now, I can recommend two things. First off, Heather Corinna's wonderful article, Dangerous Curves and its sequel (a warning: there may be nudity). And secondly, I recommend dancing naked. Dance naked at any time you have the house, or even just a room, to yourself. Do it with loud music you love, with soft music that makes you feel creamy and smooth, or with your eyes closed. Dance to music that makes you feel sexy, powerful and alive.

Heather's Naked Dancing Playlist:
Remember Me - Blue Boy
No One Knows My Plan - They Might Be Giants
Lust for Life - Iggy Pop
Girl U Want - Devo
Not a Virgin - Poe
Ca Plane Pour Moi - Plastic Bertram
BBC - Mike Myers
Magic Carpet Ride - Steppenwolf
Yeh Yeh - They Might Be Giants
Splish Splash - Bobby Darin
I Love to Boogie - T Rex
Weapon of Choice - Fatboy Slim
Professional Widow - Tori Amos (Armand Van Helden mix)

Ugh. I decided to try and pre-enrol today. After jumping through all the administrative statistic-gathering hoops, I entered one of my subjects and was told that I did not meet the prerequisites. This is probably as a result of getting only a pass in my first semester's study. I thought this might happen. I was hoping that, since I'm doing really well in Semiotics, they'd take a credit average although, since the marks aren't finalised yet, I suppose they can't do that. So I'll have to apply for special permission, I think. The lecturer likes me and I clearly care about the subject, it's just that I screwed up that course. Failing that, I could do more second year English courses so that I have a credit in two different second year English courses.

Then we come to Linguistics, which I was really looking forward to doing. I really want to do the Historical Linguistics course in second semester, so I need the Phonetics and Phonology course in first semester. But, if I want to do Semantics and Pragmatics the following year (which I do) I have to do two completely different courses this year. In addition, I'm not sure what other subject I'm doing - Semiotics or Ancient History? Or something completely different, like gender studies or philosophy. I've had enough of uni, I'm going to run off and join the circus.

Listening: Sympathy for the Devil - Rolling Stones

DisturbGoogle
You may not know this about me, but I'm obsessed with my referral logs. Well, you'd have to not be reading very hard. A while back I was talking with Adam about my disturbing search referrals, and the joys that are Google URLs, and he decided to combine the two. DisturbGoogle was born!

slinky naked man vegemite
ruthless bitch organised harry potter
leaky lumberjack terrace
"thirteen inches" ponies little daughter
communal swallow sister bedsheets

Freaky referrals:
naked piano playing
regency novels spanking
men buttcrack jeans
removing mosquito bites scars
donnie darko sountrack
shea segar lyrics
hindi film dil chahta hai songs karaoke CD
Lucius Tom slash.

And now, using my research skills for good, rather than evil, I bring you:
Donnie Darko soundtrack
Shea Seger lyrics
Dil Chahta Hai soundtrack (Not karaoke, but it's better'n you did.)
Lucius/Tom fic

I got the horrible essay back, and I got a good credit mark for it. I am still convinced that the essay is crap, but this assessment goes some way to convincing me that I have natural affinity with essays, and I can somehow wrangle a thousand words into existence in three hours. I think I probably can, the real difficulty lies in identifying relevant quotes and meanings when it's in Italian, and I don't have time to write a translation of the piece.

I finished Soul Reaver II this morning. Andrew finds it quite odd that I don't use the defensive moves. I thought I should probably know them before I finished the game, so I figured them out when I was fighting two of the last guys. The block made nice noises, but I found it completely unnecessary. Really, I tend to have a more 'run in, whack them, run out' fighting style, honed from years of video games, particularly platformers without any defensive options. It works for me, anyway.

The weekend was great, lots of time with Andrew after so long apart. We saw The Bourne Identity, which was fun. Lots of similarities between it and The Long Kiss Goodnight, which I also really enjoyed. We both have many essays to write, so the weekend was an oasis of relaxation. The Modern Italy essay is due tomorrow. I suppose I should read the poems in question tonight, then chuck together 1,200 words tomorrow afternoon. I think we've reached the point in semester at which I abandon all pretense of being a good student.

Listening: Nightgown of the Sullen Moon - They Might Be Giants

A filling came out of one of my molars today. I wasn't aware of it coming out, I was just eating caramel popcorn at the bus stop, and then there was an enormous chasm where part of my tooth should have been. It's not that bad, of course - mouth injuries always feel heinous to the probing tongue - but it's something else to worry about. I thought drinking some milk would be a good idea, but I had too much, and the queasy feeling is worsened by the sickly orange stench of whatever goo the girl next to me just put on her hands.

I can't find the things I need to get my Italian essay done for Monday and my head hurts. I switched computers because the last one was having an identity crisis and claimed not to have a cd rom drive. This one came with a chair whose seat was broken in half and flopping, as well as a horrid keyboard: i, k, l and . are all dodgy, and appear to be stuck together in the substructure of the keyboard somehow. I'm restraining myself from digging up the keys in question to see what the problem is - I think I'd probably rather not know, and just wash my hands ever so thoroughly when I leave. I want a very large cup of tea.

Listening: Never is Enough - Barenaked Ladies