In the past few days I have:
– Sent my laptop in for repairs and gotten it back again, functioning AWESOMELY
-performed my last two drama practicals, both of which went awesomely, and my monologues earned me some really good feedback and the offer to participate in an Honours Directing piece next term
– got sick, chundered twice, and got better
– still not recovered completely from flu
– been preparing for my music (jazz singing) exams coming up on Wed and Fri
– been studying for my written exams starting on 8 June
– had some more existential crises
– had some vague plans about how I’m going to tackle the fact that I am not a Christian anymore
– started working on “Stilted” which is due to show at this year’s Grahamstown National Arts Festival
– not heard at all from holiday lover/whatever we wish to call him, making it over 10 days since the douchebag last contacted me, his so-called friend which he supposedly cares so much about, cry cry cry etc and ditto
– been the only person under this roof actually studying for exams
– had frozen toes for way too many consecutive hours
– really missed my close friends and family
I suspect the posts over the next month are going to be as fragmentary as this one. Im seriously fearing I will fail my exams, because Stilted rehearsals are looking pretty hectic, as is my need to jack up my lame driving skills before I redo my test, and the usual other 20 bazillion things that require my attention in this mad digs I live in. And even without all those things, I just generally have a bad exam timetable, and I’m a slow learner. Gotta try and prioritise, and keep sane. Part of the reason why this weekend I got so sick I threw up, is that I was extremely strung, I hardly ate for most of Friday, I then binge-ate Friday supper, and spent most of Friday evening stressing about religion and church and people and scene kids and expectations. And why I don’t just move to the Himalayas and become a hermit.
That + a probable tummy bug in the Grahamstown air = BLAPT!!!
Apologies to the queasy kids.
If there is anyone out there who wants to send me free but good analysises (analyses..analysy… more than one analysis) on Wordsworthian, Coleridgian, and Keatsian poetry, please OH GOD PLEASE do.
and you can just read about my atrociously lame attempts to study Romantic poetry, right here, right now.
If Coleridge got famous by writing about his probably Opium-induced vision, maybe I should consider hitting up some drugs too.
Mind you, if all Wordsworth had to do was prance about the daisies, I mean daffodils, and somehow allow for the possibility that he wasn’t just a tree-hugger but also a politically-motivated poet…
Then maybe I should run out into my garden and start kissing the cactus. Write a couple 7000 lines about it, in predictable rhyme schemes, and TA DA!!! I’LL BE FAMOUS!!!
Yes. That sounds like a plan. See y’all in poet Hollywood.
(Would that be Xanadu? That’s where they all want to be, at any rate.)