oi
It seems I am going to England.
Yes, I got the letter, and I am spending Spring term learning of Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot in some lovely old castle owned by the university. Her majesty's all excited that I need formalwear of some sort; she gets to force me into a dress again! Life has meaning once more!
Just let it not be pink or floral. I want grey or something, but I fear I needs must comprimise, given that she's offering to pay for it; this most welcome, of course, as I have no money. Again. Damn groceries--why do I need to eat? Can't I go anorexic for a time, just to save money? Probably a bad idea, since I've been fainting unnecessarily lately, but I don't know...
I've not eaten so many vegetables at one time in my life this Reading Week. Her majesty piled them on and on on the days she made dinner, insisting that I was foolish and reckless and didn't take care of myself, this inferred from the fact that my skin was a bit off. She kept on remarking on that--I guess it's a good thing I don't much care about my complexion, cleanliness being the only thing of relevance to my mind, or I might have been offended. I attempted to explain that, being ill, I had not eaten anything much for nearly two weeks, which necessarily included vegetables, yes, but the fact that I was sick, badly sick, might perhaps be of more relevance than the paucity of vegetables? At any rate, what did she expect me to do? I cannot swallow down ladles of broccoli and snowpeas if I am constantly emptying the stomach by a rather more irregular method than is standard--or, perhaps I could, but what would be the point?
Their majesties were also quite astounded when Spazz and I got back from studying at coffeeplace a little past 10:30pm one night; apparently this is late. They were offing the lights, and all pyjamified and seemed even faintly worried. See, this is why I had to get up at 6:30am the last years in high school in order to finish my homework. What's wrong with these people; did they not stay up studying our ages? The day does not end at midnight, and certainly not before.
They, of course, are concerned for our health, which is reasonable, yet still expect good marks and awards and things, which is also reasonable (well, the award/scholarship part may be venturing a bit too far into optimism), and yet... I am always reminded of that Dilbert cartoon: (HELLOO! THESE ARE MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE GOALS!!! HELLOOOO! oops, sorry, I usually just think that last part in silent frustration). Sometimes I hate standardized intelligence tests and their damn results. I'm not as smart as their majesties think I am, special classes notwithstanding, and the only way to get the marks they expect to come naturally to me is to drive myself up the wall. So I drive myself up and over the wall and sometimes it works and sometimes I'm still a disappointment, but when I do manage something that lives up to their expectations than the extreme thankful feeling of relief is generally worth it. It really is. Their opinion matters and always will, and not just because they're fully capable of making my life a living hell any time they feel I'm not living up to their standards. It just matters. Of course, the congratulations or 'that's nice' is usually followed by more exhortations vegetable-wise...
I wonder what English food will be like. Cafeteria food is ominous enough, but that country may add a new dimension; what appals me most, however, is the lack of a coffee shop on the grounds. This seems to me essential for any well-regulated academic environment, but apparently they think differently. It seems I may have to either sacrifice much packing space to my addiction or rely on pills; their majesties want me to develop an attachment to tea, but it moves me not the way belovedest coffee dear does, though I don't mind the 'chai' tea--the cinnamony stuff. 'tis ok. Their majesties also insist that I patronize the pub establishment in order to develop the gregarious side of my nature appropriately. I may; I may not. I've never appreciated anything organized around the purpose of socializing when perfect strangers are involved; it's difficult merely to talk to a person, they're always evaluating. If talking purely for the purpose of socializing (again I stress with strangers--I love to talk to my friends), then I just get twitchy. I prefer a purpose to talk around, digressions always welcome.
It is not as if I am a misanthrope--feline family insistence aside (which, although still an acceptable future to me, started entirely as an effort to get people to shut up about the oh, so shy, stop pathetic being scared of people kick(it didn't work)), I tend to like people just fine; I just don't like stress. Even at all slightly, which can be inconvenient. Another professor lately seems to have made it her personal mission to get me more involved in the "group" aspect of class--people are always doing that, although she at least confines her attention to class. Miss Satan and her insistence we go to the damn dances instead of the library was a little more insistent. It is always, seemingly, somebody-or-other's mission to socialize me, with their majesties getting their digs in periodically, but I am social for heaven's sake! I have some friends, I can talk to people if I like them, and I get by. You all know how terrible I am at keeping in touch, which fortunately seems not to be much a problem; if I had too many friends it would be more difficult. Someone might get offended by my hermit periods or my uselessness as regards to answering e-mail or my reluctance to talk on the phone (said apparatus always making me want to tell perfidious fibs), perhaps, and integrating different groups of friends can occasionally get weird, I am told, though never ran into that to any particularly unpleasant degree or anything. I don't know. I have friends and I'm lucky to have them and I love you all. See? There is sociability in my strange little brain!
My, I do seem to be ranting a great deal. Visits home, visits home... Ah, the magical influence of parental advice as prompting hypergraphia...there's always something I feel they don't get but lord knows I may not respond to them...
I am excited for England greatly, though. I hope I can wake up enough that it will be a real experience; I want to be aware of everything that's going on around me and enjoy it all to the fullest, if I may use the cliche. (is there a way to do accents on this?) Dreamworlds for the nighttime only. Or, mostly, anyway. I am also to have some roomate, which I hope works out. I can be annoying, though I doubt they'll bother me even if they are jerkish.
I wonder what the field trips will be.
I'm missing some playoffs; Spazz will have to tape the games for me, I suppose. I'm bringing my Stanley Cup poster with me though, methinks.
And it occurs to me that I may have a pop quiz tomorrow, so I had better do the readings for that.
Love to all/
Yes, I got the letter, and I am spending Spring term learning of Shakespeare and T.S. Eliot in some lovely old castle owned by the university. Her majesty's all excited that I need formalwear of some sort; she gets to force me into a dress again! Life has meaning once more!
Just let it not be pink or floral. I want grey or something, but I fear I needs must comprimise, given that she's offering to pay for it; this most welcome, of course, as I have no money. Again. Damn groceries--why do I need to eat? Can't I go anorexic for a time, just to save money? Probably a bad idea, since I've been fainting unnecessarily lately, but I don't know...
I've not eaten so many vegetables at one time in my life this Reading Week. Her majesty piled them on and on on the days she made dinner, insisting that I was foolish and reckless and didn't take care of myself, this inferred from the fact that my skin was a bit off. She kept on remarking on that--I guess it's a good thing I don't much care about my complexion, cleanliness being the only thing of relevance to my mind, or I might have been offended. I attempted to explain that, being ill, I had not eaten anything much for nearly two weeks, which necessarily included vegetables, yes, but the fact that I was sick, badly sick, might perhaps be of more relevance than the paucity of vegetables? At any rate, what did she expect me to do? I cannot swallow down ladles of broccoli and snowpeas if I am constantly emptying the stomach by a rather more irregular method than is standard--or, perhaps I could, but what would be the point?
Their majesties were also quite astounded when Spazz and I got back from studying at coffeeplace a little past 10:30pm one night; apparently this is late. They were offing the lights, and all pyjamified and seemed even faintly worried. See, this is why I had to get up at 6:30am the last years in high school in order to finish my homework. What's wrong with these people; did they not stay up studying our ages? The day does not end at midnight, and certainly not before.
They, of course, are concerned for our health, which is reasonable, yet still expect good marks and awards and things, which is also reasonable (well, the award/scholarship part may be venturing a bit too far into optimism), and yet... I am always reminded of that Dilbert cartoon: (HELLOO! THESE ARE MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE GOALS!!! HELLOOOO! oops, sorry, I usually just think that last part in silent frustration). Sometimes I hate standardized intelligence tests and their damn results. I'm not as smart as their majesties think I am, special classes notwithstanding, and the only way to get the marks they expect to come naturally to me is to drive myself up the wall. So I drive myself up and over the wall and sometimes it works and sometimes I'm still a disappointment, but when I do manage something that lives up to their expectations than the extreme thankful feeling of relief is generally worth it. It really is. Their opinion matters and always will, and not just because they're fully capable of making my life a living hell any time they feel I'm not living up to their standards. It just matters. Of course, the congratulations or 'that's nice' is usually followed by more exhortations vegetable-wise...
I wonder what English food will be like. Cafeteria food is ominous enough, but that country may add a new dimension; what appals me most, however, is the lack of a coffee shop on the grounds. This seems to me essential for any well-regulated academic environment, but apparently they think differently. It seems I may have to either sacrifice much packing space to my addiction or rely on pills; their majesties want me to develop an attachment to tea, but it moves me not the way belovedest coffee dear does, though I don't mind the 'chai' tea--the cinnamony stuff. 'tis ok. Their majesties also insist that I patronize the pub establishment in order to develop the gregarious side of my nature appropriately. I may; I may not. I've never appreciated anything organized around the purpose of socializing when perfect strangers are involved; it's difficult merely to talk to a person, they're always evaluating. If talking purely for the purpose of socializing (again I stress with strangers--I love to talk to my friends), then I just get twitchy. I prefer a purpose to talk around, digressions always welcome.
It is not as if I am a misanthrope--feline family insistence aside (which, although still an acceptable future to me, started entirely as an effort to get people to shut up about the oh, so shy, stop pathetic being scared of people kick(it didn't work)), I tend to like people just fine; I just don't like stress. Even at all slightly, which can be inconvenient. Another professor lately seems to have made it her personal mission to get me more involved in the "group" aspect of class--people are always doing that, although she at least confines her attention to class. Miss Satan and her insistence we go to the damn dances instead of the library was a little more insistent. It is always, seemingly, somebody-or-other's mission to socialize me, with their majesties getting their digs in periodically, but I am social for heaven's sake! I have some friends, I can talk to people if I like them, and I get by. You all know how terrible I am at keeping in touch, which fortunately seems not to be much a problem; if I had too many friends it would be more difficult. Someone might get offended by my hermit periods or my uselessness as regards to answering e-mail or my reluctance to talk on the phone (said apparatus always making me want to tell perfidious fibs), perhaps, and integrating different groups of friends can occasionally get weird, I am told, though never ran into that to any particularly unpleasant degree or anything. I don't know. I have friends and I'm lucky to have them and I love you all. See? There is sociability in my strange little brain!
My, I do seem to be ranting a great deal. Visits home, visits home... Ah, the magical influence of parental advice as prompting hypergraphia...there's always something I feel they don't get but lord knows I may not respond to them...
I am excited for England greatly, though. I hope I can wake up enough that it will be a real experience; I want to be aware of everything that's going on around me and enjoy it all to the fullest, if I may use the cliche. (is there a way to do accents on this?) Dreamworlds for the nighttime only. Or, mostly, anyway. I am also to have some roomate, which I hope works out. I can be annoying, though I doubt they'll bother me even if they are jerkish.
I wonder what the field trips will be.
I'm missing some playoffs; Spazz will have to tape the games for me, I suppose. I'm bringing my Stanley Cup poster with me though, methinks.
And it occurs to me that I may have a pop quiz tomorrow, so I had better do the readings for that.
Love to all/
posted by Athaira at 7:36 PM
3 comments
