Tomorrow 8.30 am is my French exam
Think of me, think of me fohooondly
Weheeen we sa-hay goohoodbyeee
(Phantom of the Opera, A.L.Webber)
I am soo underprepared that i do not care, shitty timetable = i’m bound to be unprepared for some sections!
I WAS planning on working my bum off today though. But then life, Marty-style, happened.
I worked till 3am, and woke up at 8am, miraculously I survived! I don’t know how, but I am okay, still, at 10pm.
Okay, so I sort of have bloodshot eyes, but I mean, so do zombies, and they can still get things done. In crappy, B-grade films.
My day started off with a premonition to lock up my laptop and put R’s valuables away in a safe place, in case we got broken in to. I am generally quite a paranoid person, so I thought this was just a paranoid thought.
I went off with my digsmate to the new rehearsal space on the other side of the world, to fetch keys and discuss business ( he he he I love saying that). I then had to walk that distance back by myself. It was frigging long. By then it was almost lunch time.
After studying a bit at the university library, I headed down to the cafeteria, where I got some awesome fish. I gulped it down like I was drinking juice.
And that’s when I got a fish scale stuck at the back of my throat.
And it’s still there now, at 10 frigging pm. No amount of poking, drinking, gargling, gagging, calling aliens has done any good.
I am now the proud owner of a fish scale, it will forever be a part of my oesophagus, and from this day on The Times will refer to me as that Fish Scale Girl.
Shortly after I’d smsed my mom asking her for suggestions to remove Scalez (I had to name him, since we’ve gotten so close and personal in the past 12 hours), I got a brilliant sms from my neighbour:
hey thought id let u know, there was some guy trying to jump the wall earlier. but he gone now.
I wanted to ram my face into the computer screen in front of me, but I thought hitting a scarf might prove safer in the long run, less reconstructive surgery to worry about.
So then the flurry of messaging started – to my three digsmates who had been at home and heard nothing, including the neighbour knocking on the front door. To the security company to get them to investigate. To my mother to find some support because I tend to freak out about little things (no shit hey! as if the readers didn’t know this by now..)
The security company (which I will write poems and odes to one day, and hopefuly gain a husband from) arrived at the house in a mere ten minutes, caught the suspect, searched him, realised he’s a regular guy who gets reported for trespassing often, but has never actually been caught red-handed, they gave him a “verbal warning” (ooh, scary), and let him go.
All this while I was in the library going “Paul Claudel ecrit Partage de Midi en 1905 blah fra blah fra blah fra blah”
And having spastic attacks in between.
And realising that this is the third time I have a premonition about some kind of crime happening to me, and it actually happens (the first two times were the attempted break in, and the stealing of my handbag).
I had to go buy myself a chocolate and some iced tea to deal with the frustration of it all.
Thank God for my neighbour. It’s the first time she’s spoken to us in months! Yay!
And thank goodness that hobo didn’t manage to break in. Gave the routine safety lecture to the digs mates again today:
Please remember to lock the doors
Lock the doors
Lock the doors
Close the windows when you leave
Emergency exits are located here
Here, and here,
Panic tablets are located
In my pockets
In my socks
In my bags
In my room
And in my eye sockets.
Got the usual blank stares and yes yes yes we know Marty dear (go to rehab) nods.
At least I didn’t have three hours of rehearsals tonight, R gave me the night off to work. Though at this point I’d rather be watching three of the most talented men I know rehearsing…rather than reading. yet again. about FORKING Paul Claudel. Dude!!! You dated a whore!! Okay!! She got with two other dudes!! That’s not love, that’s horniness!!! Stop writing plays about it!!!
Write haikus. Please. At least they are brief. Oh my word – I have just had an epiphany- WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL WORDSWORTH ABOUT HAIKUS???
It could have made a lot of English students’ lives more tolerable. Imagine:
Okay, Willie, the creative energy emanating from that pile of cow dung is telling you to write about Daffodils. GREAT!! But. OOOH I feel it in the winds!!! You must restrict yourself to 17 moras only, or ye old Triton will blow his wreathed horn at you.
Now that would be Sublime.
I feel a creative energy emanating from my box of chocolate biscuits. It is speaking in the language of the rivers and mountains. But I have the gift of translation, oooh VERILY, VERILY!
Happily, it is saying, happily, EAT ME MARTY!!!
Hang in there everyone – just another week and I’ll be okay. Then I’ll blog about Jesus again. I may just do the symbolic thing and move my Bible from my shelf to the back of my cupboard. The earth may tremble!!! TECTONIC PLATES!! TECTONIC!!!
*is dragged away by herself*