Daytime delights.

So, Week 0 approaches inexorably. It looms over the horizon, a massive wave of maths and queer and debating and university and life and stuff and things to do. SO MUCH STUFF.

After trying to be manly about my illness (read: stupid), I decided to actually get medical advice. Incredibly painless, actually. They have a walk-in clinic. Opens at 8:30. You walk in, they take your name, and then you wait your turn to be seen. I waited about 5-10 minutes to be seen.

The doctor listened to me breathe, stuck things in my ears, made me say "aaahhhh", had a good look all over me, mumbled "39" and "bronchitis" and "here you go". I now have a course of antibiotics and instructions to have paracetamol every four hours to keep my fever under control. Apparently, 39 degrees is too hot for a grown up to be. In fact, it's too hot for anyone to be. (And I thought I was hot because of my parents' ludicrously warm house...!)

In total, this week, there have been four working days. I have worked four hours of these four working days. Grand total of £20 there. Spent a third of that on antibiotics, and probably spent the rest on soup and mouthwash and Ribena (I am drinking A LOT of Ribena.)

However, there are some upsides. For example, I have discovered Wogan's Perfect Recall. I quite enjoy this quiz show, actually. It's hosted by Terry Wogan (long term childhood crush, blame Eurovision) and the format is that you start of with 4 contestants, and the number whittles down in each round. Now, the answers are the same in every single round; it's the questions that change. So, if you can remember what the answers were, then you'll do quite well. Obviously, you need to be quick on that buzzer, etc.

I've taken to have two showers a day now. By the time it gets to about 2pm, I've been sweating so much that I just want to take another one (I take my first at 7:30). So, I'll be doing that. I think I'll wash my hair too. I'll make sure I dry it very very well, don't want to get even more sick.

Bleeding!

So, some of my Facebook friends have developed a curious corollary to follow the "I went to the shops" type status. Something along the lines of "I'm having a period and I don't like ittttttt."

What am I supposed to say in response to that?

"Ibuprofen, you dolt."
"Wait a few days, then you'll be fine."
"Cut your womb out. It'll hurt less... oh wait."

I'm not ashamed of my body, and its willingness to provide me with varying amounts of icky and pain. I don't like it, but, it's my lot, and I accept it. I don't feel the need to tell everyone about the state of my ladyplaces. Frankly, I don't think anyone particularly wants to know.

On top of that, telling everyone on Facebook you're on the rag and as such will be irritable is like saying "I'm in a bad mood, and I refuse to do anything to make it easier for people. I'm a bit of an ass."

Lots of women suffer much so much more than you. For example, I read once that when women undergo female genital mutilation of the most "complete" kind, the whole area is basically sewn up bar the tiniest little hole. So, there's all the usual womby contractions, then on top of that, there's the risk of infection, and the pain of that little hole. There's also endometriosis (Noelle from Cycle 3 of ANTM has it), which does generally suck pretty bad, and gives you a good chance of infertility too.

Healthy Western women are so lucky. We can basically ignore everything going on apart from approximately half an hour each day, when you pop a paracetamol or go to the bathroom. Just stop whining, take a painkiller and go for a walk.

TL;DR - Man the fuck up.

Letters and numbers.

When I was applying for university, I had to write a personal statement, detailing how absolutely perfect I was for academic study. I started mine off like this:

From a young age, I have always had an interest in mathematics. Some of my earliest memories include sitting with my father practising simple arithmetic, being in a maths lesson in primary school, and the Numbers Game on Countdown!

(Yes, I was a bit of an ass. But I was 17.)

I used to adore Countdown as a child. It was my favourite thing to watch. I remember being extremely small, perhaps 4 or 5. I would wake up very early on a Saturday morning, 6:30 or so, and I remember watching Barney (yes, the purple dinosaur) and Countdown.

Richard Whiteley was like a father to me. Obviously, he was only around for an hour or so on a Saturday morning, but he was so smart and kind and led the show so well. And, there was Carol. I really wanted to be Carol, for years. In fact, when they replaced her, I did seriously consider applying for it, even though the show is based in Manchester, and there'd be no way for me to be able to actually get there on a regular basis. :p

My love of Countdown continued right through my teens, until Richard died. When I found out, I stopped watching Countdown for ages. I watched his final episode, and then I stopped watching. I couldn't imagine a Countdown without him. I honestly grieved.

I tried watching with the replacements, but eventually I gave up. They were all wrong. Richard always got the balance right. Sure, he was witty, but he was never trying to be the star of the show. It was always about the numbers and the letters, and occasionally Carol. I found some of the other hosts tried too hard to be funny, take the focus away.

I watched my first full episode of Countdown in five years today. The current host isn't too bad. There was a Northern Irish kid on the show, who was just incredible. Reminded me of a friend of mine - although I'm not sure of how good his letters are, I have no doubt he'd be killer at the numbers.

I enjoyed the new Carol, I think her name is Rachel. She's a pretty blonde Oxford graduate.

So, I might be watching a little more Countdown in future.

Where are the blogs?

It just occurred to me I've not been around too much. So, here's what I've been doing.

• Boyfriend
• Job
• Travelling to boyfriend
• Family crap
• Panicking about maths
  
• Writing a high school love story that I'm not allowed to call "High School Love Story" because otherwise it'll sounds like porn.
• General creative malarkey
• More boyfriend, especially on the phonemobile.
  

There we go. It takes up a lot of time to do all that, and sleep 8 hours a night.

Apologies to the loyal reader(s) I have out there. Literally, I have no idea who reads this. But if you're still out there, there'll be more rants and grumbles coming later.

Stay tuned in!

The times, they are a-changin'...

So, village life is pretty much dead now. Older folk everywhere lament. Woolworths is gone, there's no more local pubs (just a Wetherspoons, or a 'spoons' as the kids call it), and everything has become a hustle-bustle of city and town centre.

Where's the park? Where's the swing? Where's the town hall where they used to have the ballet classes? Where's the village school where you recognised every parent and every child?

It's sad when things change. I personally find change tough to take. But, eventually, things grow on you, and you enjoy what you have. I remember when we first got Windows Vista, and I missed the familiarity of XP. It didn't take me long to accept that Vista did have its upsides (once they fixed the larger bugs), and XP just wasn't around any more, so pining for it would have been pointless.

Similarly, the village life is/was nice. You knew everyone, everyone knew you, there wasn't the hustle and bustle and paranoia of "modern life" (whatever that means). Yet, modern living is pretty cool. We have high-speed internet. We're connected to the whole world ALL THE TIME. We have music from all over the world, we have experiences and lives from all sorts of places. We have less time, granted, and we have to make much more of an effort to keep hold of ourselves, but I don't think that's too much of a problem.

Saying you miss the "good old days" is a little like saying "I wish I could have something back that doesn't suit modern society." If village life was the best way to do life, we'd either be there right now, or we'll revert back to it eventually anyway.

Ways of living change. Find things that are good about today; don't dwell in your village green past.

(Unless you're the Kinks, and you're making a kick-ass album.)

I'm sorry... no, I'm not.

I am currently employed. Hooray! I am a telemarketing operator, to quote my full and complete title. What I do is I call people - "Good morning, Henry Sparker, please." - and then guide them through re-registering for the magazine I'm working for on that particular day. If Henry's not there, not a problem. Either it's "That's okay, can you help me update his details on his behalf?" or, if he's actually left properly, "Okay, I need to speak to your *insert high level job person*" and then get them to do a full registration.

From the first day of my job, I had the idea that I might be quite good at it. Not the best in the world, but I immediately took to the work, found my rhythm and within a day or so, I was already at the level of the girls who started last week.

We get targets set by the hour. At the moment, my target is 10 successful registrations an hour, occasionally 11. A successful registration can be a short re-registration, or a longer full registration with someone new.

(Interestingly, if I am registering the same person but the postal address of their organisation changes, that means I have to do the full registration process, even if the company is the same and their job role hasn't changed.)

Since being set 10 an hour, I've only had a few hours where I've not reached it. Usually, I exceed my target of 10, or hit it right on the nail in the final minutes of the hour. Once, I managed to get 15. I'm not sure how, but people just kept saying "yes, I can help".

Now, the interesting part of what I do happens when Henry himself is not available to do a registration; all you need is a secretary, or a PA, or a colleague of a lower job rank. To get higher numbers per hour, you need to learn how to deal with people who aren't the direct subscriber. Sometimes they don't feel entirely sure they can answer the questions. Sometimes they are busy. Sometimes they've already received five calls already and they're tired of questions. In all cases, my job is to lead them through the questions, as quickly as I can, occasionally feeding answers for some of the questions that can be problematic.

The question that often trips up a registration is called "Digital or print registration?" on my data entry form. What I interpret that as is, "Henry's currently receiving the digital version of the magazine, shall we stick with that format?" You don't give them a choice (paper is expensive, we'd prefer them to take email), or hint too much that this is indeed a registration for the magazine, because for some reason, PAs get very nervous when they sign up their boss for free things. I can understand why, but it is my job to convince them that it's okay, because it's entirely free of charge and this miracle magazine material has useful stuff for any level of management in any size organisation. Plus, you'll help me reach target and get an extra 5 minutes of break.

Occasionally, by the time I get to the last question, which is an auditing question (to prove I'm not just making up subscriptions), the on-their-behalf subscriber sounds very quiet, and a little nervous. I hang up, and for about five seconds, while filling out the call conclusion form, writing S for Short in my time form, and starting a new call, I think about the little girl, Miss Susie Haynes, or whatever, in her office, not entirely sure of what's happened, or what she's done.

Don't worry, Susie.

The challenge of my job is dealing with Katies. Let me explain: I call for Henry Sparker, and instead, Katie picks up the phone. Either Katie's company has a no-name policy, or Katie's on a switchboard and she's incredibly busy and just can't talk, or she can't give details over the phone, or they do all their registrations by email. With these, it's not really Katie's fault, so I let it slide. I have to.

Sometimes Katie knows all the details and is the PA/secretary to Henry (i.e. perfect to do the registration), but refuses to give her full name and/or title. The last Katie scenario is the worst. She can give me that delightful little S on my time sheet, but she refuses to because of some misplaced idea of what security is. You tell strangers your name and job title all the time at parties, Katie, I'm sure; you just don't want to tell me these things because I'm not some anonymous hot bloke in a suit that you can physically see in front of you. As for Miss/Ms/Mrs, well, you'd tell Hot Bloke all that too, but with your low-cut top or your buttoned up "don't talk to me, Johnny" manner.

I know, I'm being harsh here. Katie's not being a twat for no reason. But, I guess people are afraid to be linked to doing anything. Especially when they're not sure they should be doing it.

So, this post is incredibly long so...

TL;DR - I have a job. It's going well, but I need to improve on working with Katies who can help but won't because they're afraid of security. And, in general, I need to continue to work on adapting my approach more to each phone call, developing a flexibility for each situation. I would apologise for being that person who calls on behalf of X Magazine, but, it's my job. I have to do it. So, I won't apologise. So there. :p

I'm surprised at how much I've learnt here, actually. What seemed like a simple, and mind-numbingly boring job has actually become very interesting.

"Is competition for graduate jobs too tough?"

So, as all graduates have known for ages now, you basically need a 2:1 for most graduate jobs now. I even said it a year ago. According to a recent article, some graduate employers are refusing to interview anyone with a 2:2 or lower. So, the BBC asks (on its ever delightful Have Your Say section), is that too competitive? Should we lower the criteria, make it a bit easier for graduates to get a job?

Here's a fact for you. It might shock some of you, but, here you go.

Graduates do not deserve jobs just for being graduates.

There! I said it! But, it's true. People, not just graduates, should get jobs because they'll be able to do the tasks required of them in the job. So, things like relevant work experience and interpersonal skills help. A degree doesn't in and of itself give you the relevant work experience or important skills required for most jobs out there.

In the past, you could leave school at 16, and then just head out, get work, apprenticeships, and all that. Nowadays, if you're not seen to be entirely hopeless at school work, it seems like you're expected to follow a conveyor belt of school, then Sixth Form, then uni. Uni is just something you do, another three years of school on top of the 12 you've already done, a rite of passage of sorts.

Seems quite sad that just because you're smart enough to do university, you're expected to do it. I know several people who would have been much happier just getting stuck into work from the age of 16 or 18. Admittedly, I know that certain degrees can open the door to certain jobs (you can't work in CERN without some really tricky science under your belt!), but you don't need a degree to lead a team of people, and it seems like you could probably get most qualifications as you work anyway.

So, where am I going with my ramble? Nowhere. To be honest, I'm unsure of what my job prospects are. Sure, I'm smart, I'll probably come out with that golden 2:1 (or even a First!), and I've got some experience from my time on the exec, and I've had employment before. I'm a hard worker. I'd hope I was employable.

However, I know that my module choices so far (i.e. choosing pure over applied) have meant that rather than having things that might be more useful for an employer, I've chosen fun, abstract things that don't immediately have a use, if they have a use at all. I take responsibility for that choice. I chose interest and fun over practicality and use. If that makes me less employable, I am not going to yell about my right to employment because I graduated from a top university.

I guess it's my responsibility to make myself employable. Find something that I can do for society, or learn how to do something that makes me useful to society.

Bulging brides, snap solutions.

I've been watching a show about women who buy their wedding dresses a little too early, and snack like fiends, so they put on weight. Oh no! So two exercise demons from health hell itself come to get our "bulging" bride down to size before the Big Day.

The first time I saw the show, the lady was a former figure skater. She wasn't actually overweight! She was just a little plump on the hips, which isn't a sin. Worse still, her measurements were tiny, and they tutted over her having a butt worth a damn. Maybe Exercise Demon Girl was jealous because she has no boobs and boy hips.

The show basically encourages the brides-to-be to restrict their diet for six weeks, and combine that with really hard work outs. So, salad leaves for lunch, chicken with one teaspoon of rice for dinner, 5k run.

It's not sustainable. I know, it's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be a quick-fix to get you into that perfect shape for the day when all eyes are on you. But, I know that these women will immediately pile on all the pounds once they reintroduce all the carbs, cake and wine they missed out on their 6 weeks of hell.

How about a show when you say stuff like "Stop eating Doritos *all* the time. Just have a little bowl, and leave the packet in the kitchen".

Or perhaps "Eat less cheese, but you can still have it".

Shock, horror, you could even say "Cake is not banned! Just don't eat a whole cake."

I simply don't believe that you need to get rid of all cake and wine and pasta to be able to stay fit. To get a seriously athletic figure, I admit, you'll probably need to get yourself some sort of plan designed for $28123o by some Dr Whatever in London, or LA. But, if you're just a regular sort of person looking to be a size 12 again, I reckon cutting down on the bad stuff, not eliminating, would be sufficient, as well as exercising, of course.

I've got the first half down. I'm eating normal sized portions again rather than the huge American portions I ate Stateside. Most of my old favourites are back, but I'm not eating cream cheese every day (delicious sacrifice, sadface).

Now I need to get the exercise bit in.

~~~

Turns out the show Bulging Brides have a Wikipedia page. Something tells me that there may have been some editing here.

No woman wants to be a bulging bride! (except those women who are confident in themselves, and believe the marriage ceremony is not about looking like a pretty princess, but instead about two people joining their lives together)

Right on!

I just had to tell someone...

... so let me just tell the whole internet.

I've been away for a few weeks now (might write about it later, might not). Currently staying at a hotel in Orlando.

And I have the biggest crush EVER on the guy who works the front desk at nights.

There. I said it. He's so tall, and gorgeous. And he said my accent was cute. AND he said he liked my new t-shirt (it's MIB-inspired).

I still like my boyfriend. I promise.

But this man is just so good-looking. He has a good voice as well, deep. Southern accent. Just makes me want to ruffle my taffeta and my long skirts and invite him to my impossibly large mansion for lemonade on the porch. (Yes.)

Maybe I'm just starved of that sort of attention. So when I've not seen my boyfriend for a month and an attractive man comes along, does his job (i.e. he's competent and friendly) and tells me that English accents are cute, I'm going to notice him.

I didn't do anything though. Don't really want to. (Window shopping is much better.) Although when I asked him to help me find my brother in the bathroom tonight (he'd gone missing), there was a lady who was like "What's the problem?" and I'm like "There's no problem" and she's like "Suuuuuuure" and I KNOW she thought I was going to have one with him in the bathroom. That's kinda gross. (If it's going to be public, choose somewhere more hygenic, or more inventive, while you're at it. The gym? The computer room? How about a conference room?)

I'll forget about him soon, no doubt. He'll just be a gorgeous hazy memory after we check out on Friday.

But, it doesn't stop him from being some very good eye candy for the next day.

I want my boyfriend back. Sadface.

Kylie, cocktails and boys.

There was a good piece of news recently, marred by a weird statement from the judge who created said good piece of news.

Good news: queer people actually have a chance of getting asylum in the UK for being persecuted because of their sexuality. Two men from Iran and Cameroon got the right to asylum after having been refused first time round. Quote from the article:

They had earlier been refused asylum on the grounds they could hide their sexuality by behaving discreetly.

Now, that's not fair, is it? A straight couple can hug each other, kiss each other on the cheek or hold hands in public. People would be in uproar if someone said they weren't allowed to show small signs of affection to their loved ones in public. And yet, it's okay to tell a queer person, "Well, given that you can just have a relationship behind closed doors, I don't see there's a problem."

Putting aside the inequality, rumours spread fast, especially in small communities. An unmarried person who solely entertains members of the same perceived gender to their house, well, it's not the norm, is it? Questions like, "Why does Woman X always have Woman Y over? Why doesn't she have a husband yet?" are inevitable.

Anyway. So, now the judge has ruled they can come in to the UK. Hooray! His two cents on the matter were:

Just as male heterosexuals are free to enjoy themselves playing rugby, drinking beer and talking about girls with their mates, so male homosexuals are to be free to enjoy themselves going to Kylie concerts, drinking exotically-coloured cocktails and talking about boys with their straight female mates.

I think that this is the sign of the journey that people are taking, when it comes to learning what LGBT+ people actually are. 50 years ago, we were abominations, nasty people with nasty lives, godless, decadent, wrong. Now, people see that, just like heterosexuals, we're people too. We have lives that we want to live. Some of these lives are more fabulous and glitter-laden than anything you could ever conceive, that's true, but not all of them. In the same way that not all straight men shag or fight everything they see, not all gay men wear glitter and sequins to work and say everything is fabulous.

But it's a start. It's a stereotyped start, but it's a symbol that says that progress has been made. I think that a lot of people in the community are too quick to say "This is bad, this is wrong, this could have been done better, I'm offended now." We need to look back, and see where we've come from.

We're not where we were. We're further on. We got somewhere. That's good!

~~~

On a slight tangent, I've been thinking about campaigning. Breaking down barriers like racism, sexism, queerphobia, etc. is like demolishing a wall. The first step is to get a bulldozer and ram it. Hard. Little chips here and there from hammers won't help. You need to get some strong force behind it, and break through. Now, once you've broken through, then you need everyone to get a hammer and start to chip away at the hole you made. If you try to use a bulldozer again to work, then people think, "Why do you need a bulldozer? That's overkill." and then, no matter how important it is to break down the wall, people only think of the fact that you used a bulldozer to knock over a few bricks.

What I'm trying to say is that we've had our Stonewall riots. Queers are doing relatively well today. Not as well as we could be, but we're doing well. We need to be more subtle in the way we change hearts and minds in places where we are doing especially well, such as the UK or America (of course, in places where queer people are still being killed, we still need to keep a bulldozer handy). Illustrating that queers are just normal people with normal lives, rather than constantly pointing out how we are SO DIFFERENT, will probably help with the whole "Treat us fairly" aspect of our campaigns.

I do my bit by just showing my friends that my queer life is pretty much the same as theirs, except sometimes I want to fuck people that have the same genitals as me. But that's just my two cents.

Questions of science, science and progress.

I got my third year results yesterday. 74 to the nearest whole, that's a First. It was what I had hoped for, and I think it's what I deserved, given how hard I worked, and how much I had to put aside and overcome to get there.

One more step to ascend. One more year, then I'll have done it. I'll have a Masters degree. Master of Maths. Sounds kinda awesome. (Not quite as good as Master of Physics, which is what my boyfriend now is. YES!)

I got an email out of the blue, from a familiar source. I used to be a part of Great Writing, a website where I would put all my scribbles and musings in poem-shaped parcels, and let the internet decide if they liked it.

I got a comment today, from one of the last poems I wrote. I wrote it right at the beginning of first year. I went along to the writing society's gathering, and they told us to write a poem, and I wrote something that wasn't what they were expecting. I wasn't sure if it was any good, so I put it up, and I got some good comments.

And today, I got another one. Same vein as the others, liking the same stuff.

I ended up looking through the whole back catalogue of work I've done.

It's good. Objectively, I just think it's quite good.

I need to start writing again. For my music, for my poetry, even my prose. It's not something I'd want to make a career of; I'd hate taking something creative I love and making it my paid work, and the fear of writer's block is enough to make me want to pick something I can consistently deliver, you know?

I love how when I'm just going about my life and then all the sudden a phrase pops into my head, followed in quick succession by a whole stanza, then nearly a whole poem. It's how I write; it's as if I'd been thinking about it, letting the poem gestate for weeks, and then I give birth, and there it is. Pretty much ready. Except you don't get really fat-looking if you're working on a poem subconsciously. (At least, I don't think you do.)

So, what's the summary?

I am a good mathematician, objectively. I was a good poet, objectively. I think I can be a good writer again. (It'll probably be easier to pick up chicks with good writing than with good maths, anyway.)

Hold your hats, folks!

At some point, I made a calendar of the last three weeks of term. I had planned for a couple people to come visit, as well as the Pride-y, debate-y things I'd hoped to do. Attend all the socials, read and gym in the gaps between.

What actually happened is some Tristan time, and lots of other random things creeping in. LGBT Midlands Coalition meetings, WSAF gigs, meetings with David Preiss (DAVID PREISS!), and so on.

In particular, the last five days have been particularly challenging. I suppose I didn't realise quite how challenging until last night, when, in a delirious haze of exhaustion and headpain, I made a cake and then fell asleep almost instantly.

So. This is what I have done recently.

Thursday: Meeting with David Preiss about 4th year project. To get ready for this, I'd had to read a 12-page document, and then read as much as I could about integration in general. On top of this, my brother had given me a piece of work to do too (writing some text for a website), due for Friday. So, already, the week had been quite full of writing and reading. The meeting went really well, then as soon as it was over, Tristan and I drove madly down the motorway to get to my brother's prize giving. After mingling and wine and dinner and "look this is the family house", we drove all the way back.

Friday: At some point in the early morning, say 3:30, we fell asleep. (I don't have a great deal to say about that bit apart from that it was both fun and amazing.) Woke up, eventually, got my brother's work done and emailed to him by the deadline, then rushed into the shower to see my housemate's band play their final ever gig, at WSAF. Came home, made food, went back out, Crash time. Oh, Crash. Drunken, dance-fuelled madness. Nick, Richard, Zal, Mash, Buzz, Engineering Matt, faces and crowds and wonderful things.

Saturday: Entirely unwonderful things, to start. Including lots of chundering. (I did party extremely hard). Hangover started to subside at about 4 or 5, just in time to rush into the shower AGAIN and get to campus in time for dinner in the Duck and watching more bands play at WSAF including the very fun Lilac Joke, and the ever-awesome Hot Magenta. Then, onto Last Exit. More bands, more dancing, and GUITAR HERO which was really good. I chose to play King Crimson. Seven minutes of guitar noodling at an almost impossible pace. Then, Matt and Buzz played Rush, "The Spirit Of Radio". LOL. That was hilariously awful. But, impossible to play. In the end, it turned out that Matt and Buzz had been looking at each other's corners, so they were playing the wrong stuff :P (Matt still won though). After a while, Tash and I crashed out, so Mash and I went home.

Sunday: A relatively relaxing day. Bus trips around the Canley area to pick up icing pens, since my local supermarket doesn't sell them big enough, and it was too hot to walk around, hence the bus. Finally got home, made some chocolate cake, watched England get thrashed. Iced the cake, decorated the cake, went to campus and back to give Katie a disc for the last acronym film social. Early bed time in time for the day ahead.

Monday: 6:45am start, for a 7:45am taxi onto campus, arriving minutes to 8, to await my lift. Why this horrifically real-person start? To teach debating at a school in the Banbury area! A full day with a group of Year 12s. I had a crib sheet, and it worked pretty well. I was nervous at first, but I grew to feed off their enthusiasm and really enjoyed watching the quieter girls grow in confidence over the course of the day. Lunch was 25 minutes, break was 10, the whole day finished at about 5 or so. Got to campus again at about 6 ish. Went to see Tristan. Began to feel kinda tired. Realised I had a cake to make for him. Took a taxi home, collapsed a bit. After resting for a while, I dragged myself outside to get Chinese takeout and then came home and ate it. I felt a bit better, so made the cake bases. By now, it was approaching 10. I realised I didn't have enough icing sugar. Left the house again to get it. Called home; a family member had died. I'm borrowing some of Mom's black clothes to wear for the funeral. (My first ever funeral, occurring the day before we go on holiday.) Mom'd also been to A&E, for some really bad allergic reaction she had. Got home eventually, icing sugar in tow, fell asleep for about 30 minutes. I couldn't help it, I was just so tired and hurty. All the lights and sounds of the house were just throbbing in my head and my eyes. However, I got myself up, took some Norah Jones downstairs on Audrey and dimmed the lights in the kitchen and iced the cake. After this epic set of manly endeavours, I went to bed and passed out.

I'm not sure exactly what possessed me to ignore everything my body was telling me, so I could finish that cake. It's like I found a strength somewhere. I'm glad I did it though. Not sure I'd have forgiven myself if I hadn't. Cake is SRS BSNS.

I guess people do crazy things when they're in... summertime. Yes, when they are in summertime. (That is clearly the word I want to use.)

Girls in dresses.

Went to a party the other day. Pretty epic. Lots of booze. Lots of Jewish boys.

In particular, there were two girls dressed in particularly eye-catching dresses. They just looked awesome. I've seen the Facebook pictures, and they just don't look as amazing as they did in person. Still attractive, just not as good.

Girls are cool. :)

A thought.

It often occurs to me that there are a lot of memories I have, involving all sorts of people. (Pizza Hut Dan, Emile, Phil, that maths teacher at Bows, Blonde Joseph, not-very-Scottish James, Jack in Year 3, Decimating Ben, Swedish-Israeli Ben, three Matts, Tom E and Tom F, all the Davids/Daves, Bethany, Jewish Richard...)

They might have forgotten me. Several of them probably have. I know, I've probably forgotten some people who remember me.

There's plenty of one-sided memories out there. But, I'd like to hope that I'm remembered by people. The idea of just dying with nobody remembering who you are doesn't appeal to me much.

Would Channel Four please come to the diary room?

It's the end of an era. Big Brother first appeared on British screens in the summer of 2000. I was 11. I didn't particular watch it first time round, but I knew it was happening. And then, every year for the past 10 years, every summer, it's been there.

It's ending this year. I mean, it had to, really. The format was tired and old, peaking in popularity sometime around 2004. It's the perfect example of what the first decade of the new millennium offered to television: voyeurism. For the first time, we all had the technology in our homes, offices and phones to watch 24 hours a day what someone was doing. What's more, we had the drive to watch 24 hours a day. The idea of having people Just Like Us on national TV, living in a house with strangers, that was new. Exciting. We could see them live. Every conflict, every love story, live. All the time.

The newspaper media machines were more than content to publish stories of the housemates; evictions became headlines, shoving international affairs or government politics aside. We, the public, were far more interested in the politics in the Big Brother house. Who wants to read about a stuffy bunch of white middle-class men when we can see people Just Like Us?

But they're not Just Like Us. Sure, they're human. They're going to have feelings and concerns, and so we can relate to them there. But two things come to mind:

One: who applies to be on a show like this?
Two: who do the producers want to see on a show like this?

Exhibitionists. Conflict-making. Loud. Attention-seeking. Fame-hungry.

I've heard all those things said about people in the Big Brother house. I'm not saying everyone in all the houses were all of those things all the time. But, well, they wanted to be on TV 24 hours a day for months in a row. It's not a particularly normal balanced thing, I don't think.

Still, it's coming to an end. I think it's time for TV to find something new. The Noughties were all about reality TV. What's going to be the craze for the 2010's?

But is it lucky underwear?

That is what I am trying to work out today.

A few weeks ago, I bought some truly awesome underwear. Three pairs of Spongebob Squarepants shorts, and some pants with My Little Pony all over them.

Probably the most arousing clothing I own, the MLP pants.

So, it occurred to me that I haven't quite studied enough for Manifolds. So, what do you do? Wear your lucky pants to the exam, of course!

Except my previous pair is in the laundry basket, and it's looking decidedly less lucky as the months progress.

So, time for a replacement, perhaps. The plan is to wear the MLP pants to the exam, and if I ace it, they become my new lucky pants.

This is a perfect plan, with no downsides. (And I'm not planning on being naked around anyone today, so nobody will be able to see the pink pony and rainbow on my butt.)

Playing games.

David and I have been dancing. Around each other, as opposed to with each other. Complicated, convoluted paths spiralling around the house. Patterns to follow.

In a way, I'm almost enjoying it. There's only one real way of dealing with him. Play his game.

He won't leave his room if he knows I'm on the landing. He'll move his food preparations in the kitchen so he's as far away from me as possible. He'll leave any communal area I enter.

So, I play. I spend slightly more time walking up the stairs if I know he's waiting in his room for me to leave. I'll deliberately find myself requiring all the areas of the kitchen when preparing something, just to see if he will move every single time I do.

I know it's a little childish, playing the game because he's childish enough to start it. But I just want him to punch me in the face. This situation where we can't clear the air seems really unhealthy. But, I suppose if we were never able to be honest when we were in a relationship, it seems even less likely we'd be able to communicate after it fell apart.

There was one time, a couple days ago, when I was entering the kitchen, and he instinctively began to greet me, but swallowed it, and just made a small "Oh" noise; a mix of disgust and disappointment that I wasn't Matt or Gary (how you can confuse a short black female-type for tall white men, I honestly don't know.) I'd like to think that this whole not-talking, not-seeing, not-interacting thing is just him being incredibly stubborn, as opposed to him genuinely not wanting to talk to me.

But, it's almost impossible to say. I don't know who he is. I never really did.

(I should really start writing some songs/poetry about this.)

Swimming in a sea of idiocy.

Politicians are really annoying, what with their soundbite politics and airbrushed posters, but they're not quite as bad as the electorate. (Or the press, but they're just awful scaremongering profiteers sometimes... Maybe I'll rant about them some other time.)

First of all, this rubbish about how Gordon Brown was this "unelected prime minister", which somehow makes him illegitimate. Newsflash: EVERY PRIME MINISTER IS UNELECTED. They're not presidents. We can't tick "Gordon Brown" on our ballot papers (unless we're in his constituency, at which point he is elected to be MP, not PM.) We didn't ever tick "Tony Blair for PM" in 1997; Gordon and Tony were just as legitimate as each other. Here's how it works: the country picks a party, in the form of giving them the most seats. The party selects a leader. So, since we, the people, chose the party, we have indirectly chosen the leader. Within the system we work in, that's where the legitimacy comes from.

So, really, it's not that big a problem that we haven't elected Cameron, Clegg, Brown, etc. Personality politics seem like a bad idea to me anyway. We shouldn't pick our favourite person, we should pick the party with the most competence and best ideas. I guess there is a case to be made that we shouldn't pick someone highly uncharismatic (PMs have to do speeches and diplomatic whatsits sometimes), but I doubt you can get to being a party leader without being at least competent in public speaking.

There seems to be a confusion in the electorate. Well, given half of them are below average intelligence, this isn't entirely surprising, but you would hope that voters are educated enough to realise certain things.

Like, tactical voting. If you really don't want the Tories to get in, for example, it's not good enough to just vote Labour blindly. Have a look at your constituency. If it's a Lib Dem seat, with potential for Tory swing, then vote Lib Dem if you want to vote "not Tory". A lot of Lib Dem seats might have been lost through people saying "Well, Lib Dems aren't going to win, let me pick Labour to ensure the Tories stay out", not realising that the way our system works means that your tactical vote has to be dependent on where you live.

Secondly, all of the big parties are hogging the centre ground. You really need to look quite hard to work out who's actually doing what these days. So, no wonder the electorate doesn't quite know who to choose. The only obvious differences between parties occur at the fringes.

Well, anyway.

Cameron's said to Clegg, "Choose." And Gordon's walked. So, I guess something might happen. Or it might not. I'd rather things took time than were rushed for the sake of an electorate with 5-second attention spans.

Stop.

At about 8:20pm on Friday night, I finally admitted to myself that I wasn't okay. Things had got out of hand, and my head was a mess. I couldn't cope any more.

I thought of 13 Going On 30, kinda stupid movie, but I like it anyway. Jenna, 13, with the help of nondescript movie magic, becomes Jenna, 30. After a whole bunch of grown-up things are thrown at her, she feels overwhelmed and goes home to her parents, who make her pancakes and make her feel better.

So, I went home. I made the pancakes though.

I'm going back tomorrow morning. I'm behind on work; I doubt I'll catch up the time I've had to take out. Still, I think I needed it. I don't think I'd have done much better there.

I feel kinda weak, a bit ashamed. I let the situation get to me, I let it break me. But, I know that everyone has limits, and I reached mine and I should just accept it, recover and come back stronger.

I'm not sure where I'm going to go now. I guess I should just take care of myself. I'm clearly more delicate than I think I am. So, reducing stress, trying to focus on the maths ahead of me. I can do it. (Of course I can.)

Where is my mind?

Woke up again for the second time by my alarm clock. Normally I wake up a few minutes before it, but I didn't today, and I didn't yesterday. Took me half an hour to get out of bed. I'll wake up eventually, but currently, I'm quite tired.

Living here drains me. My sugar moves, I can't use the kitchen without impeccable timing or stubborn determination, I have to consider the cost-benefit analysis of having a conversation in the house. I can't invite anyone over without pissing him off. I've only got a calendar month left here, but there's enough stress to be dealing with already without not having a home to chill out in.

I'm cold. I have to wear two pairs of everything and a dressing gown to stop shivering. It's May. That doesn't seem right.

I listened to my massive amount of Beatles last night. Played "Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand" quite a lot.

I've been talking a lot to A. Ever since first year, I've always wondered whether it was healthy to have such a firm foot in my past, specifically a part of my past that hasn't always been good. But, we're talking a lot right now and I think that the more I worry about Something happening, the more likely it is that something will. But, I'm pretty sure that I can just about handle hanging out with him and not having sex. I'm kinda excited about having a proper friendship with him - we never really had one first time round.

I have to shop today. I've run out of basics, but I've also run out of money. All I have to do is buy enough to survive until Thursday morning.

The sky is blue, with a few puffy clouds. One looks like a unicorn goring a badger. Another one looks like a pregnant goat.

I should get dressed and start my day properly. Gotta stay upbeat, nothing else to do... ^^

Mail!

I get really excited about mail. I'll sit in my room just waiting for noon-ish to arrive, and then sooner or later, I'll hear the gentle yet noticeable *thud* downstairs and I'll run as fast as I can down the stairs and jump around, all hyped about the mail.

I even get excited if it's not for me.

Today is Friday. I usually get the Weekly Letter from my father. It's a short note from him with £20 taped to it. So, Friday mail is even more exciting than any other.

This Friday, there were two pieces of mail. Ex's postal vote, and a Big Letter from home.

Inside the Big Letter, was the Weekly Letter, complete with £20, and a letter from Student Loans, to get my money sorted AND AND AND AND Transatlantic tickets! Prog times are soon to be mine!

Best mail I've had in a while, really. :D

West Coast Smoker

I've always wanted to visit West Coast America. California, Oregon, Washington. In fact, I just want to do all fifty states at some point. There's probably something cool to see in all of them, not necessarily all as sparkly and mental as Las Vegas or New York, but still, something quirky and interesting. Like, Connecticut has Yale, that might be cool to visit. California has California girls, so DEFINITELY worth a look there!

My parents always like to take us on holiday to the same places every time. New York, Florida, Caribbean. New York and Caribbean aren't for the touristy thing though, we go for family. So, that hardly counts as a holiday - you get to spend a couple of weeks in other people's living rooms instead of your own, except they don't get the BBC and all their TV is interrupted every five minutes by adverts of erectile dysfunction and weight loss pills if you're Stateside, or every ten minutes by soft drink and carnival ads in the Caribbean. Redeeming feature: the carnival ads have pretty girls wearing next to nothing dancing. (Apparently it's okay to say that cos I'm not a guy.)

Anyway, the point is, they go to the same places every time. It's nice, and I quite like it, but I get bored. But, I guess they like that we go to the same places every time. Like, you know what you'll get, if you just go to I-Drive every other year and go to the same Disney/Universal theme parks.

I remember last time though, things had changed a bit. The first time I went, I was about 8 or 9 when I went the first time, so it was like a fucking paradise. Last time I went was the summer before university so, I was 18 and a half. I guess I just saw everything as an exercise in using pester power to line the pockets of some CEO somewhere.

I can see why they'd choose to the same places every time though. You don't have to worry about the culture being too removed, you don't have to bring phrasebooks, you can recognise the letters and the signposts. It's just like being at home, except people say "candy" and "elevator" and the bacon is too crispy and inedible.

You do miss out on exciting stuff, though. Trying new foods, learning a language on the fly, adjusting to unusual social customs; there's the chance of learning lots and gaining funny tales to tell later when you get home (even if they're anything but funny at the time!)

So, you have a choice. Safety and the potential for mind-numbing boredom, or mild terror and the reward of finding out something new you actually quite like.

I'll take mild terror for $200, Alex.

Tiffany Blews

I have no idea what this song is about really. The band Yes have songs where the lyrics are nothing more than a collection of words that sound gorgeous together; they mean nothing, they are nonsensical. If you listened, it becomes very clear it's not supposed to make sense. Fall Out Boy tricked me into thinking this song made sense, and then you read the lyrics, and really, it's no better than Yes, except Yes were never setting out to make sense.

I find myself at a loss for words, at the moment. There are a hundred thousand words, battling for attention in my head, but they seem to refuse to co-operate and line themselves up in an orderly fashion, so I can tell you, my literate audience, what's going on. Maybe bullet points will help.

• I'm seeing someone new.
• He is my best friend. (was, is? I'm not sure.)
• My most recent ex lives in his house.
• My second most recent ex lives in my house.
• Consequently, we both live in our own versions of An Awkward House.
  
• We have a Guitar Hero band. It's called Unicorn Parade.

That's basically the gist of it. Bullet points did help. First time La Roux did the song "Bulletproof", it was actually about how she uses bullet points to help her write, except her agent didn't think it would work as well in clubs if it was about bullet points, cos they're not sexy. THEY WERE WRONG! Bullet points are beautiful.

I have exams starting today. I'm most confident about the ones coming first, so I can just get through them, do my best, and cram like a loon for the hard ones.

Everything I've learnt this year is being put to the test. And, I hate it when people say, "Good luck," because, if you prepared well, learned from what you did wrong before, if you understand where your gaps in knowledge lie, then you don't need to be lucky. You can just go and do a good job Avoid the bits you can't do, make up for it by doing a kick-ass job in the places you know you can. Luck is for the ill-prepared, it seems.

(Wish me luck for my algebra modules.)

27

This is probably one of my favourite songs, there are some really interesting phrases. Not sure if they all work together, but as snapshots of songwriting flair, it's not bad. It's really not that bad.

It's just about being lost in a world you don't recognise, being flung into a world of stars and tours and not seeing your family for months. Sex, drugs, parties, late nights, loud music, bright lights, city living.

So far, it's Day 3. Time passes so slowly when you're thinking about it in the present, but then, before you know it, you're at Sunday, and your exams are tomorrow, and have you done enough? Day 3. Of course, it feels longer, since I was pretty single after the penultimate time I called and he said, "I won't see you for an indefinite time." I didn't have a boyfriend; I had someone who was on my Recently Called list. But, in fact, it has only been three days officially.

I need to think of something to do, use the rest of my 11 obligatory days effectively. Of course, once I get out of 11 days, I have the rest of my (lonely?) single life ahead of me - joy! I really ought to do some song-writing really soon. I want to be able to give myself the time to do it, but not quite yet. There's so much to say, and everything always sounds so much more real when I sing it. It's one of the few times when I can't help but always be sincere, when I sing. (I guess why I'm so afraid of letting people see me sing properly.) Maybe on Sunday night, after my exec meeting, I can just chillax, write a whole bunch of stuff. I'm no Regina Spektor, but I like what I do.

What after the 11 days? Well, meet lots of new people, find most of them perfectly palatable, but ultimately, not quite right. I went to the election debate, they were showing it in the union, and I found a friend of mine, and sat with her, and her friends. And that's how I met Jeff/Geoff. He was kinda quiet, looked a bit pretentious - but he's a philosophy student, so I guess that can't be helped. He shook my hand very firmly, both when we met, and when we said goodbye. He seemed kinda boring, unfortunately. He didn't seem to be the type to get my off-the-wall type of humour. Of course, this is all first impression-y type stuff, so it could be wrong, but, you know, that's all you get first time round.

Then again, not many people get my humour. A kid from debating was at the debate too, and he pointed at the TV and asked me who I was supporting, and I said, "Arsenal, of course." He didn't get it, and I had to explain the joke and then he did get it, and everyone on my table was like "FAIL" and it was kinda funny. (Turns out that he also turns up sometimes to the Sunday Focus meeting I used to do in first year. I was thinking of Making An Appearance once in a while, they're a good bunch of people, and being cooked for on a Sunday is always nice.)

Ben was like that too. One time, we were having lunch in the school dinner hall, and we had the following exchange:

"I'll make a beeline towards you later."
"Why not a flyline, or waspline?"
*silence* "What?"
"Bee, fly, wasp. All flying insects."
"Yes, I did get it it was an attempt at humour. It just wasn't funny."

Yeah, he was a little harsh sometimes. Such is life.

What A Catch, Donnie.

I've got troubled thoughts, and the self-esteem to match. What a catch...

When I first heard Fall Out Boy were going on indefinite hiatus, this song just seemed like the perfect farewell. At the end, a bunch of people (Elvis Costello, Brendan Urie, etc) came and sang a couple lines from some Fall Out Boy songs while the chorus is looped over by Patrick, and it's really cool.

I always thought that quote summed me up to a T. Troubled thoughts, minimal self-esteem. I know that's it's not true. My life's only a mess when I do stuff I haven't thought through properly. When I actually think, my thoughts are pretty clear, and pretty sound. I am a smart person, I just don't use my smartness for some reason. I want to.

I was talking to a friend last night, and he asked me what kind of person I wanted to be. I thought about it for a bit, and I realised I wanted to be brave, kind and smart. It's totally doable. I think I am quite brave, especially when it comes to just approaching new people, not being nervous, and just talking to them. I am kind, when I remember that there's more to life that just what I'm doing. I can be smart, when I actually think about what I'm doing.

I do have self-esteem. I'm not the best person in the world - I'd be mad to think that - but I have definite positive features about my personality.

When I was younger, after I'd broken up with my first ever non-playground boyfriend (after treating him like crap and eventually calling it quits), I thought that somebody like me never really deserved to be with anyone genuinely good, someone who was kind and generous and loving, because I didn't know how to treat them properly. If I deserved anything, it would be someone who treated me badly and made me feel sad, in the way I made other people sad sometimes. I know that's not true. Everyone deserves a bit of happiness, I think.

I am a single person! Thus, another chapter of my life begins. Hopefully it'll be distinctly different from the ones I had before. I want something different this time round, I think. Sex is good, movies are too, but I think I want something more than just that.

...

There's so much I want to say. But, it's not the right time for it. I don't know if there will ever be a right time for it. Of course, you can spend your whole life not saying things that might change everything, because it's "not quite the right time", and then nothing ever really happens to you. Fortune favours the brave; history is made by those who show up; if you don't ask, you can't ever get an answer. I just have to try to be smart, and work out when the best time is, and be brave, and just say it.

It's like the end of When Harry Met Sally, when Sally's at a New Year's party dateless, and once Harry realises he's in love with her, he plucks up the courage to run to the party from his apartment to tell her. She says to him that he can't just show up and tell her he loves her and that'll fix everything, because it doesn't work that way. Before she can walk away, Harry grabs her and tells her various things that he loves about her (including the fact that he loves that it takes her an hour and half to order a sandwich.) He then finishes by saying:

I came here tonight because when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

Hopefully I'll be brave enough to tell them how I feel before someone else finds out how amazing they are. Another perfect quote from this (totally amazing!) movie:

All I'm saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don't get him first, somebody else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband.

The (Shipped) Gold Standard

For all you keen FOB fans (or for those of you able to Google!), you'll have noticed that I've got my titles the wrong way round. This post should have come before the last. However, since it's my blog, I can do whatever I like round here. (So there.)

The TV debate was interesting. It wasn't a polished and buffed, soundbitey, gimmicky affair like you might have got over the pond (where presidential debates have been going on for years). I was reading the story of how various leaders over the years have tried to get a debate going over here. The person doing worse in the polls would ask the other, and the other would say no, and give an official reason such as "TV politics, rubbish, gimmick, blah", when the actual reason is: "I'm going to win anyway, I have a large margin above you on the polls. I don't need a debate to potentially ruin that." However, at the moment, a hung parliament is more likely than any other scenario, so the parties have nothing really to lose.

Nick looked very cute on the TV, and I think he presented himself well. Probably not the most polished (given Daveyboy and Gordon have been speaking in public in the role of Some Important Dude for a bit longer), but with practise, he'll get better. It's great that the election's really became more of a n-horse race (n>2), since that is the reality of it. There are MORE THAN TWO parties, despite what Labour and Conservative want you to think. It's in their best interests to have a two-party system, I guess, because you just swing between the two in 10 year cycles, and you only have one ideological viewpoint to oppose.

It's great that the Lib Dems got some TV time. It'll just further increase their support and show that they do have a non-negligible base of popular support.

The polls have, all of the sudden, got rather interesting. In several taken after the debate, Lib Dems come a close second, with some even having them come out on top! Of course, the percentage points are so close, taking into account the margin of error gives you the result "Everyone's a winner". Well, it should. Except the way the electoral system goes at the moment means that 30% of the country can vote Lib Dem, but if the support isn't concentrated enough in traditional homesteads for Labour and Conservative, it won't translate to more seats. So, if the Lib Dems do as well in the actual vote as the polls suggest they might, it might lead to some voting reform (which is exciting!) - it doesn't seem fair that over half of the country can vote for "not party Y", yet party Y can legitimately gain over half of the seats.

...

GO YELLOWS! <3

(Coffee's For Closers)

A friend of mine came over last night. I've known her since fresher year, but I'd never realised how similar we were, in terms of relationship-type stories. She talked about her exes, I talked about mine, and we just had a pretty good chat. I'll be seeing more of her soon, I hope. She was planning on doing her Masters in a place that wasn't Warwick, but it didn't work out the way she hoped and she figured having a good solid maths background from Warwick won't hurt, given she wants to do a PhD.

Using what I know, what she told me, and general social conventions and age-old wisdom tips, I think I've managed to work out the way you should break up with someone. (At last.)

1. Check you actually want to end the relationship. Are you just having a bad day? Is she just being a nightmare because she's stressed about exams? Is he being neglectful because he's having a personal crisis? Not everyone will be wonderful all the time, but there is a tipping point where you shouldn't have to take a sustained level of crapness.
   
2. Check you think that the relationship isn't fixable. If you're both willing to talk about the problems you have, and you're both willing to fix the broken bits, it's probably worth trying for a little while, and then talking about how you feel it's going. No relationship will ever be plain sailing forever; sometimes it'll just get hard and you both need to work to stay together. If either one of you wants out, and doesn't want to try, no amount of fixing from the other party will help.
   
3. "Let's have coffee. Tomorrow." Try and get it done as soon as possible (after you've established a relationship is unfixable, you don't want to convince yourself that it's somehow okay to stick around.) Do it in person, if at all possible. If you're in an LDR, a phone call is probably best. The relationship deserves respect, even if it is ending. A neutral ground, like a coffee shop, is a good place. They are less likely to get shouty or violent in public, you're not likely to accidentally have sex with them instead of breaking up (like if you were in their place to break up, say), you can both go home to separate places (or back home to the SAME PLACE if you live together. Awkward.) Might be a good idea to order decaf if you're nervous.
4. Explain why the relationship failed. With my Ex/Guy switcharoo, it would seem really obvious that I left Ex because I wanted to be with Guy instead. What actually happened is that the relationship failed because of reasons unrelated to Guy - he just happened to be at the right place at the right time. So, it's a good idea to explain why you're leaving. The less ambiguity you leave, the better. The recipient of breakups can sometimes see things in a distinctly illogical light for a really long time (paranoia, loneliness, depression, etc), and the clearer you make the explanation, the less illogical they can be before facts get in the way. Point out that a relationship is made of two people; just because you're doing the breaking up doesn't mean they're blamefree. Explain what they did wrong as well as what you did wrong.
   
5. Spend a fortnight single. This is an absolute minimum. If you end up meeting someone in those two weeks, and you think they happen to be The One, then hopefully waiting two weeks to date them won't ruin things too much. Basically, the gap is there so you can ask yourself: "Am I dating X to not be alone anymore, or because I really like them?" Plus, your ex is probably going to be sensitive about you dating. If you ever want their friendship, dating within hours of breaking up is probably not the way to go about it.
   
6. Date again, but remembering what you learnt from last time. Very few relationships are ever an entire waste of time, there's usually something positive you can say about them. Remember why you broke up. It's rarely just one person's fault when a relationship breaks up. Try to ensure that the stuff your partner did wrong before doesn't happen again, and try and fix the bits of you that weren't good last time round.
7. ...
8. PROFIT!
   

A sidenote: There's never a good time to break up with someone, but there are bad times which should be avoided unless absolutely unavoidable. Birthdays (yours or theirs), holidays (for example, Christmas, or Valentines Day), just before or during important exams. So, if you determine the relationship is unfixable on, say, December 24, I'd recommend letting the holiday period go by as painlessly as possible, and have a chat on January 4th or something (I'd have said the third, but that's my birthday).

And, as far as I can tell, that's all you have to do. Basically, it's sensitivity, communication, common sense, faith, trust and pixie dust. Now I have to make sure I do it properly this time. Last time I followed this routine, I did this:

1. I did want to end this. I'd been thinking about it for months.
   
2. It *might* have been fixable, but I wanted out. I don't think I wanted to work that hard. I don't think I realised that at some point, I would.
   
3. It was actually Earl Grey, and it was after months of thinking "Should I, shouldn't I?" and finally being persuaded by Guy.
4. I said the relationship was over, but didn't really articulate why, giving him full clearance to assume I'd been dating Guy for a month and was probably sleeping with him, and that I was leaving him for Guy, and that's why she's leaving. I really should have told him more.
5. Spending a fortnight single? Try an hour. (Ex really liked that bit better than anything else I did.)
   
6. Dating again... well, yeah. Guy and I do talk a lot more than Ex and I did about our relationship. And, I'm trying to give Guy some control of what we do, and what's going on, except he never really wants to take it, so we just float about rudderless and awkward until I eventually get things done.
7. ...
8. Profit, of sorts. I got out of one relationship I couldn't stand, but now I'm in one I don't particularly like either.
   

So, now I know how to do it properly (at least, more properly). Perhaps if there's more to add, or mistakes, there'll be additions and corrections. But, I think it's probably a good list.

Now, I just need to wait and think about what I'm doing, for once. Patience is a virtue that I am somewhat lacking in, but I'm getting much better at being patient and waiting for the right time. I just need to wait. And think.

(I'm secretly extremely hopeful for the future, in one particular respect. I won't tell you what that is, though. I just hope it doesn't all go wrong.)

Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet

This title refers to a baseball player that was notorious for sliding onto bases headfirst, instead of the traditional feetfirst. Then he got into trouble for cheating, so he wasn't allowed into the Hall of Fame, which is situated in Cooperstown. Feetfirst is probably a lot safer, right? After all, you're not potentially slamming your head into the ground that way... That'd hurt. A lot.

I ended up talking to my housemate briefly about What Happened with Ex and Guy. I cleared up a little; I wasn't actually officially dating him before I'd split up with Ex, although I admitted things had got out of hand. I think he's just staying well out of this, glad I found a new housemate to fill the empty room, a bit sad that there'll be no Curry Night due to awkward-weirdness. We're still friends, and we're going to have some pizza when he comes back this weekend.

I am pretty glad we're friends. Towards the end of the relationship, I found myself hanging out with him quite a lot, just chilling in his room, reading notes, or talking, or something. I'm finding it really hard now to be alone, and I'm glad he'll be around this term, to stop me just driving myself insane. We're not deep-soul-chat friends, but I know we're close in some ways. Camp Sarah isn't particularly popular at this time of year (when is it ever?!), but I reckon he wouldn't mind coming to visit.

I managed to do some fairly good work today. Finished off Measure Theory, wrote up the important results from the course. Afterwards, I picked up my guitar, and I started to play. I found myself starting to write a song. There's so much material I have to write about now: loss, love, life (other things beginning with letters that aren't L?). Got a germ of a good song so far, it's called Two Years. No prizes for guessing what that one's going to be about...

I remember, when I was in high school, I became a sound techie for the school production of Grease. I auditioned for an acting/dancing part initially. They had a secret ranking: so they'd say a word to you when they'd seen you perform and it was code for what they thought of you. (I recall that "banana" was the top ranking.) So, I was with my friends, and they have two left feet, and I have one left and one right, but they're not on speaking terms often, so they got the worst ranking, and I got the one just above that (which I am STILL pleased about!), and none of us got parts on stage. So, I became a techie instead.

I had a bit of a crush on a few of the backstagers, like my fellow sound worker, and the guy who was in the orchestra playing trumpet. But, I didn't say anything to them. Instead, I went home, and wrote letters to them that I had no intention of ever delivering. I did that for a couple of other people as well, friends that hadn't been very supportive, girls I wanted to get to know in a naked way, stuff like that.

I'm thinking I might write a couple letters at some point. Then, I'll go into the garden and burn them, and let the wind carry the ashes. I'm not massively spiritual, like I'd believe that them accidentally inhaling a particle of my letter would get them thinking about it, but... I dunno. I like the idea of my deepest desires just scattered about the world. Secrets that nobody can ever read.

The ITV Prime Ministers debate is on tonight! It's a very American idea, like a presidential debate. Luckily, the next title is "The (Shipped) Gold Standard", which means that I won't have to shoehorn my post about it into a title, it'll fit neatly, blister-free. All I'll say about it now is Nick Clegg's in it! It's like a two-and-a-half horse race... nearly. I'm pleased though. He's definitely the hottest out of the three that are going to be on. Plus, I actually like his policies. Vote Yellow, and all that. :)

America's Suitehearts...

I've been watching a lot of Supersize vs Superskinny lately. There's a lot of it on the Channel 4 archives, and it's a good way to spend 40 minutes without too much pain. Basic premise: someone eats too little and is underweight; someone eats too much and is overweight. Swap their diets!

In this latest series, they have a video clip sent from Stateside to the overweight/obese person on the program to remind them that fat kills. You get the shots of them not being able to put shoes on, being washed by careworkers, sitting and looking depressed when their kids run around in the garden without them.

Sadly, there's only so much TV you can watch without just feeling your brain turn to mush, and you desire something else.

There have been occasions when I've almost wanted to be at home. At least talking kitchen with Mom was a conversation.

I've not been a total hermit anyway; I've seen a few people over the few days. Sunday was dinner with some old Christian friends. I am considering seeing them on a more regular basis; they're a good bunch of people, even if their lives are focused around something I can't comprehend right now. I saw Clare and her house on Monday, had a curry with them. I actually had enough leftovers for a full plate the following day too (with rice to spare!), so that was pleasing.

I've been thinking a lot about food lately. There's not a great deal happening here: I wake up, I fritter time on the internet, I eat, I shower, I try to revise, I eat lunch, I revise a little more, I eat dinner, I watch TV and movies and talk to the odd internet person until it's 11:30 and I can go to bed without waking up at ridiculous o'clock the following morning.

Sigh. Lazy Wednesday...

She's my Winona.

About 9 years ago, an actress did some shoplifting, and it was in the papers and stuff. She was kinda famous, did some movies you might have heard of (Heathers is one). It's a little stupid to shoplift, to be honest. Especially in a designer store. They've got security guards and cameras everywhere! Duh.

What's also stupid is the current thread of news stories about installing a panic button on Facebook. The idea is that kids would feel threatened by a paedophile on Facebook and hit the button, reporting the incident and linking them to a site that can tell them how to deal with bullying, harassment, etc.

The reason it's come about is because of a 17 year old girl called Ashleigh. To summarise the story: she saw a topless boy on Facebook, started to talk to him, met him in person, found out he was a middle-aged murderer.

Now, I've talked to a lot of people on the internet; some were totally normal people, others were dodgy, depraved, and just gross (one guy sent me lots of videos of him masturbating. Yummy.) Some of my closest friends are people I've met over the internet, and then gone on to meet in person. Given that I'm still alive, there are safe ways to conduct yourself over the internet, even if you do encounter dodgy people, that ensure you'll be alive to come home to your folks.

Who meets people when they feel endangered by them? Hands up! Oh, I see no hands. This isn't just because it's the internet - it's because nobody goes to meet someone they don't trust! This is so bloody obvious. It's the way grooming works! Get their trust, get them to meet you without telling their folks. A child who trusts the person they're talking to isn't going to hit the panic button. Therefore, they'll still get murdered, if that's the unfortunate way it's going to go.

As far as I can tell, here is the problem, and the solution:

Problem: Kids/teens are stupid/insecure/lonely, parents don't communicate the risks in a non-lecture way, kids ignore sensible advice because They Think They Know Best.

Solution: Parents, talk to kids more frankly. Kids, appreciate that there are weird people over the internet. Don't meet everyone you talk to. Stay safe. (Never trust topless boys.)

Although I haven't always played it as safe as the government recommends (i.e. don't meet anyone over the internet unless your parents know all the details and come along to meet them too), I think I've done it reasonably. I've always talked to the person for an extensive amount of time before thinking about meeting them, and always stopped talking to them if I found any weird inconsistencies. In the cases of people I have actually met, I've actually got to know some of their friends as well a bit, and they confirmed enough for me to feel okay about it.

So, today's post was about stupidity. If I was on Mastermind, it'd probably be my specialist topic :p

I don't care. (That's not true, is it?)

It's occurred to me recently how much I do care, about things, and people. I'm a sensitive person, although I don't always act like one. Sunshine makes me happy, grey clouds make me sad. Reading about child brides in Yemen makes me feel angry and sad (but that's another topic for another day, reader.)

So far, revision is going okay. Just okay. I would have liked to been further ahead by this stage, but it has been incredibly leisurely, so what I've lost out on in terms of achievement, I've also lost out in terms of math-stress. I'm at the halfway mark now. I have 15 days until my first exam. There are 11 example sheets left. I assume that I won't work any slower than one sheet a day, and that leaves me four days to do practice papers and cram results. This is probably good timing; you want to keep exam ready for as little time as possible, and yet you want to give yourself enough time to reach that state.

Very nervous about the second block. There are 20 days between my last exam in the first block and the first exam in the second block. 20 days, four modules, four three-hour exams. HALP.

I'm currently trying to consider whether conference is a good idea. It's be SO AWESOME to spend a long weekend with a bunch of politically minded, intelligent, articulate queer students. Caucuses, workshops, nights out, coffees in. But, it is three days out of that precious twenty. Is 17 days enough? Potentially, I could try to study somewhat on the train, or stay in at night and study then, but I feel that misses the point of an experience like this. You need to talk to the people you meet, make friends, enjoy experiences. For me, I like to do things properly, balls to the wall, or not at all. So, it would be three days completely out.

Money is generally looking good right now. I hope to receive the Weekly Letter every week, which is £20, and I can really economise since I'm not on campus to be tempted by drinks and dinner at the Duck, baked potatoes, and snacks from Costies. So, if I spend £30 a week, that means I'm only spending £10 of my own money. Score! I estimate I can save up to £200 this way.

I cut my thumb today! I was chopping up some sweet potato for my dinner when my knife slipped. It was quiet deep, and the blood was really bright red. It was quite scary, and I didn't have any plasters on hand, so I made one using kitchen towel and masking tape!

Bedtime. ^^ Now THAT is something I am very passionate about!

Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes

This title is... insane! The actual song has nothing to do with disloyalty, ordering, water OR buffaloes. But, you know, let's see where we go from here:

Disloyal...

I've been practising being single. Sort of. It's more practising "not having a person around all who does the cooking and the cleaning". Which is entirely different, now that I think about it.

What I have with New Guy is very different to what I had before. It's friends with benefits, but with exclusivity. Sounds a lot like a Relationship, except he's given it a fairly firm expiry date, which... you know, a Relationship doesn't have one of those. Of course, if it turns out he actually sticks around, I'll be pretty thrilled and it'll be interesting to see how it works out. But, I'm not holding out for it. I'd be a fool to.

Order!

Being in the house alone has been quite a nice thing, actually. I play Fall Out Boy as loudly as I like, I always know how much milk I have at all times, I don't have to worry about setting the alarm on anyone, I don't have to be home for anyone. I've been steadily cleaning the house. Bathroom was last night, kitchen was this morning. Over the weekend, I plan to find to vacuum. So, the house will be all shiny and clean and pretty for everyone to come back to.

I'm actually enjoying looking after myself. I got so lazy before, I really did. I am totally capable of buying my own milk and beef, and carrying it home myself, and cooking for myself, and cleaning up after myself, and other things. I don't need anyone to do those things for me, and I really should do them myself.

Water.

My appetite's been a bit off lately. I only managed to eat half of my pasta bol last night, I had to tupperware the rest away. I ate one carrot stick and half a pitta bread dipped in hummous before giving up (I just wasn't hungry). At least I finished dinner today. I don't think I'm sick or anything, it's just a bit weird. I've been going into campus to work 11-3 the past few days. Maybe a bit more walking, and I'll feel okay... :)

Buffaloes!

"Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo." That is all.

Nod to the past.

I decided to change the format of my blog today. It's pretty! ^^

I also decided to do something I haven't done for a long time. I used to theme sets of blog posts; I'd take each phrase of the Our Father, or Hail Mary, and write a post about it (with the occasional hiatus if something happened that didn't fit the theme).

Since Fall Out Boy is probably the closest thing I have to religion right now, it seems fitting to base the next few posts on the titles of each track from an album. I'll start with Folie a Deux, and see how it goes. If you know anything about Fall Out Boy, you'll know their lyrics are hilarious and their titles are mad. For example, the first title I have to tackle is "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes": I'm thinking wtf just as much as you are. So, this will be a fun challenge, if anything.

So, that's the plan. Keep tuning in, kids! :)

Truffles!

I did making truffles with mommy today! We measured and melted chocolate, added cream, let it set in the fridge, scooped and shaped it into balls, coated the balls in different things, and then put the balls into little cake cases. There are four varieties, each with a different colour cake case:

• Red: Milk chocolate truffles, flavoured with rum and vanilla, coated in ground pistachios.
• Green: Milk chocolate truffles, flavoured with ground almonds and vanilla, coated in ground almonds.
• Gold: White chocolate truffles, with milk chocolate swirls inside, coated in chocolate powder.
• Silver: Milk chocolate truffles, coated in chocolate powder.

The silver ones are especially for my cousin/godson. We think he might be allergic to nuts, so we made a batch especially for him that have no nuts in, and all the utensils were washed before we did his, to make sure. Plus, he's just a kid, so we made them as plain and basic as we could; that way, he can join in with us when we're enjoying all the awesome ones! ^^

It took out a whole day of studying, but it was pretty fun doing that...

F*ck this.

I hate feeling this way. I'm at home, so that's throwing up a whole lot of feelings. I've failed to mention any of the big things I wanted to this holiday (mostly David)... I know that Mom talking about wheatgrass paint and church-related drama isn't the most thrilling thing to sit through, but it's a conversation about something. She decided to tell me the stories, so that's something at least.

I feel so insecure. I know I am probably alright on my own. Like, I can be okay. I don't *require* people to support me. But it's difficult. I just feel pretty worthless to be honest.

I mean, logically, I can say quite confidently I'm not ugly, I'm kinda interesting (I knit, I like strange music, and I can get drunk off nothing but a good atmosphere), and I shouldn't feel so down about myself. I'm me! It's not that bad, really.

I feel like, once again, I've screwed it up. I didn't do it the way you're supposed to.

I really really want this to work out. And, part of it is so that I don't have to be alone, I'll admit that. But, there's more to it than that. I like him. I like him more than I like people I've known for years. It doesn't make sense, but there you go. I get excited at the idea of drinking coffee with him, for fuck's sake. I like watching TV type stuff with him, chilled out in his room. There's so many little things I like about him, things he does, things he says.

I'm scared he'll leave me. It's always seems to be the way it goes when I find someone; either I leave, or they do. Nobody ever stays. I found an email the other day, when Laney left me. Summary: "You're nice, but I don't really like you all that much and I'll probably just cheat on you when I get to uni, so, yeah. Sorry." I remember being really sad when she said that. She'd really grown on me by that point. I remember I had made her this thing out of Celebrations and Quality Street wrappers, it was really bright and colourful, and it had "Penny Laney" on it, cos that's what I called her. I think I threw it away when I read the email, but it stayed on my bedside table for quite a while before I did. For some reason, I just wanted to torture myself, a reminder of how undesirable I was.

I hate feeling this way. Powerless. I guess that's why I hate the idea of love so much. It seems to be okay if both people feel equally powerless, and they're happy with that, but I like to be in control. I like to know where things are going, what's going to happen. I only like surprises if I know they're going to be good. Then again, I hate things being boring, and it is kinda boring being in control all the time. I can't win this way. Something's gotta change (and it's probably me).

When I was younger, 14 or so, I wished that I'd fall asleep one day and wake up as someone that wouldn't fuck things up all the time. Reading through my emails the other day made me realise how little I'm actually changed in 7 years. Still selfish, still cruel, still thoughtless. I'm less like that than I was, though. I do care about people who aren't me. I found an email I'd sent to my first ex, basically acknowledging I was deliberately messing with his mind because it was fun. I don't think I'm that girl any more. I'm still capable, I'd just feel too bad about doing it.

I'm trying to be better. I am. I want to be good for him, and anybody else that might come along later. I want to be good for myself.

Stupid fucking emotions. Getting in the way of my studies. It's the human condition, I guess.

(I'll get out of feeling this way some time in the next few days, and I'll look back at this post and just think "I'm such a whiny kid. Man up!" But, you know, this is how I feel right now. :/)

Today...

Woken up at 8, asked what should Dad buy for me in the supermarket. Decided to roll out of bed, grab clothes, and just go with him. Dressed entirely like a boy (except for the skinny jeans). Bought lots of stuff.

Later in the day, I dressed entirely like a girl. Cute t-shirt, ruffly cotton layered skirt. I had hips like a goddess, which makes a change, cos my hips are actually pretty damn narrow. (Thank goodness for my butt.)

Excellent food day: Weetabix, hot milk and chopped banana; hummous, pitta bread and carrot sticks; grapes and dilute juice; cream cheese on bagel, cup of tea; Chinese take out; slice of toast.

Lazy study day. Made some progress. Easing myself into things. Doing Lie Algebras right now.

Discovered Sesame Street videos. Laughed until I cried. Flailed my limbs about in pure joy. Found a great video of Natalie Portman, dressed as an elephant, dancing with an elephant dressed as a princess. So fucking cute.

Talked to Tristan and Dave about things and stuff. Nothing too deep. Linked them to all the Sesame Street stuff.

Watched a gymnastics movie with a Fall Out Boy soundtrack. Kickass.

Had a two hour nap while the Budget was on the TV. Woke up to see Nick Clegg asking politicians to cut the crap and tell the truth.

Listened to Dancing With Myself, and Imagine (the originals, not the Glee covers).

"That's very smart, Banana, very smart."

Today was a pretty good day. Doesn't quite beat the day in the Bullring with a Krispy Kreme, though.

It's to be expected.

For a while (perhaps since first year, even) I've had a bit of a crush on a Christian.

Gasp! Shock! Horror! etc.

He's cute, pretty serious, good at maths, generally not a jerk, and loves God, but not in an evangelical bible-thumpy way. He just radiates NICE everywhere.

I considered asking him out once, but I realised I was too much of an unholy mess to go for a guy that good. So, you know, I didn't.

Then, the rest of my life happened, and we get to yesterday, when I find out he's "In A Relationship with" a Christian girl. She's kinda pretty, I assume she'll be kinda nice - Christian girls usually are.

I felt a twinge of something when I found out. Such a tiny thing, but I dunno. Pretty silly, really. But I did kinda like him.

It's a Reality Check - people date! I don't really want him anyway, but, it was a feeling that I experienced, and I documented it. So there.

Feelings are tricky.

Post-electioneering...

So, after the weeks of being bombarded by "Vote Joe!" signs all over campus, we have a new Sabbatical Officer team sitting in the wings, waiting to take over the current ones. After being gently nudged and prodded to care about referenda and voting, the referenda all did reach quorum (just about), and two conflicting motions were both passed. (Can you simultaneously reaffirm and dissolve sponsorship bans from unethical companies?)

It is also interesting to note how a student body of over 20,000 can't get more than 2000 people to vote. Students are turned off by politics, and even more turned off by the politics that should be the most relevant to them: who runs their union, and what does their union do for them. People don't vote unless their friends are running, or they're one of the few people genuinely passionate about their union.

Most people don't care; they rarely see the union actively working for them. Most just see the union do things that they rather resent, like tearing down a grubby but well-loved union and giving them an expensive, empty-feeling building with silly names for places (who names a pub the Dirty Duck?!) Or, giving them a £100+ per ticket graduation ball and summer festival they didn't ask for, when all they wanted was a Final Fling, like every other year got.

But, I digress. In general, the student body doesn't care about their union, and they don't care too much about who's actually doing what.

Take Union Council, for example. In the yearly election, where some are vying for presidential power, or some other large Sabb role, others are elected to be on Union Council. Compared to how large the campaigns for Sabb roles are, the other elected positions fade into nothingness. So, nobody really notices (or cares) about bodies like Union Council.

Until now.

Among other things they do (of which I'm not quite sure), they also have the power to hold Sabbs to account. This means that they can question a Sabb's actions, censure Sabbs (an official written slap-on-the-wrist) or even pass a motion of no confidence if they feel a Sabb can no longer fulfil their role in accordance with the constitution they agreed to abide by.

So, when the Communications Officer sent a biased email, wrote a biased flyer, and made a biased Facebook group, they held him to account, and they passed the motion of no confidence.

What is the role of Communications Officer? To communicate. Referenda are probably the most important thing for a union, they are the way that the student body can actually make decisions on where its union goes. So, if the Communications Officer makes the mistake of only mentioning two of his favourite motions and making it quite clear what side he's on, I don't think that he's using his Sabb powers to benefit the union.

There are questions of course. Should it be right for Union Council to be able to make such large decisions with a meeting that barely reached quorum? Should there have been a 2/3 majority vote? Given that students are now becoming aware of Union Council actually doing something, they're in a tizzy, and everyone's crying for an EGM. Should an EGM be able to overturn the Council's decision?

Were they too harsh? He didn't do it on purpose, it was a mistake, he said. Would censure suffice as a punishment?

As for the whole "Union Council pushing around their power to ruin lives", well, you know, this is what happens when people stop caring about politics. A bunch of people they don't know get elected by their friends, and representation fails to work. They make decisions, and if you didn't go out to vote and choose them, you can't expect to strike lucky, and have a team that represents you. You need to vote, or, better still, be on that council and make decisions.

Besides, bodies like Union Council have to exist, for the sake of sanity. Could you imagine having direct democracy, a referendum on every issue? The levels of voter apathy are bad enough as it is.

A motion of no confidence is a pretty big deal. Should you trust the student body to be able to judge whether he acted constitutionally, or whether making him leave his job is a fair punishment?

I dunno. It's all a big mess, really. I'm not really that invested in the politics itself; I just like to watch the carnage...

To end though, I would like to point out that I have some friends who are involved in Union stuff, and are very passionate about it, and love their work, and take it very seriously. I respect what they do. Such a thankless job, for the main part. Yet, as we've seen, the decisions they make behind closed door really can make a difference.

A small victory against the forces that do oppress us daily.

Once again, teaching a fresher how to debate. It gets a little old after a while.

Motion: THW allow surrogate mothers to be paid.

1st opp, with a fresher.

Two finalist debaters in the room, the kid that came to Cambridge with me, and a curiously attractive 7 foot tall philosopher judging the room.

No material in my speech since I gave it all to my fresh partner. Blank pages, speaking second after Z iron manned from first prop, five minutes to fill.

Result: SECOND PLACE.

Pretty ace, really.

Zip!

If terms were to make a sound, that's what they'd make.

Many, many months ago, I was stood in the Sports Centre car park with a few bags of shopping and a tear on my cheek. My parents drove away, and I wondered just how long 10 weeks would feel.

The first night was slow, and long. But, then I went to the free-food-and-quiz that the Chaplaincy was hosting, and the rest is history.

I'm nearly three years in. That's a long time to spend in one place, I think. I dunno. Three *weeks* can see like a long time to be in one place (especially if it's on holiday with my family).

I'm almost ready to leave in some respects. But not quite. I still like this place. I reckon that, by this time next year, I'll be ready to leave, get a job. I might not even do a PhD. I'm not sure I'm considering doing one for the right reasons. Or even if I'm able to do one, academically.

I was at a table today, in the department. Three (occasionally four) smart guys were on my table, pacing, scrawling on nearby blackboards, braincells firing. I felt so fucking stupid next to them. Like, my brain was made of treacle. I brought a full-set of legible lecture notes, which they frequently perused and occasionally asked me to help find a definition, but that was pretty much the extent of my use.

I just wish I was smart and confident like them. I'm not stupid, I know, but I just want to give up so badly sometimes. It's just so difficult to see someone just pull theorems and results and words out of the air, put them on a blackboard and just make it work, when I spent all weekend desperately trying to get my head around anything and just getting more frustrated and depressed.

It'll pass, it always does. It's hard for a while, then the concepts click and you're doing fine again. It'll just be difficult for a little while, but it's why I'm here, isn't it? :p

Fall forward, spring back.

Sometimes, you fuck it up. *shrug* It happens. Pretty often when it comes to me, in fact.

Then you find something wonderful, inside all the mess and entanglements.

I found... a soulmate, I think. We went to dinner last night, Tristan and I, and we talked honestly and we came out the other side. We were both scared, I think, that we'd have just landed on two different opinions that were fundamentally incompatible. But, we didn't.

Of course, everyone at debating jokes that we're this clear obvious why-are-they-not-dating couple, and yet we both agreed we'd be a terrible partnership. But, as friends, it's perfect. We need each other, and we give each other what the other need.

He's my favourite person in the world right now. I can see myself being just as close to him after graduation, and beyond. I will miss him so much when he leaves.

There's still a lot of cleaning up to do, and things that need time to heal, but I am pretty pleased to find that life can throw up something immensely awesome even when you fuck up.

Weekend of...?

This weekend, after lectures, I'm going home, then going to London.

My parents are renewing their vows.

One of the best speakers in debating asked me if I'd like to compete with him in Leeds, and I had to turn him down. Of course, something this important to my family is more important than a competition, but still, it'd have been really great to speak with him that much.

I hope it won't be too awkward. I have lots of new paperbacks now, of varying sizes, so I can slip a couple thin ones into my bag and it might not be so bad.

VERY busy week to look forward to though. Pride Q&A panel stuff, movies, Hornblower, more movies, meetings, socials, lectures, all that jazz.

On top of that, it seems like I should get started with revision in earnest quite soon. Four weeks of term left, five weeks of holiday before the exam slaughter begins. I've been reading through notes, revisiting notation, relearning definitions. My plan is to start to seriously look at example sheets and move onto exam papers, and looking at important exam-condition-provable results from the course.

So, there's lots and lots going on. So far, I'm just running around madly between everything I'm doing and getting tired but still enjoying everything. It's a good thing I'm an optimist with a seemingly endless Supply of Emergency Joy to call upon.

In other news, swimming has made my arms look sexier. SCORE!

It's not rape o'clock. It never is.

According to the BBC, there's quite a lot of women who think that rape victims should take some responsibility for being raped under certain circumstances.

Let's have a look at this, and get some stuff out there.

Here is a (non-exhaustive) list of things that doesn't immediately mean "It's okay to have sex with me":

• Talking to a man flirtatiously
• Wearing next-to-nothing
• Drinking an entire bottle of tequila, or equivalent
  
• Kissing a guy in a bar or club
  
• Going home with a guy for a coffee/drink
• Talking about sex with a guy
• Getting into bed with a guy
• Being naked with a guy
• Doing foreplay with a guy

Here is a (again, non-exhaustive) list of things that mean "It's okay to have sex with me":

• Saying "It's okay to have sex with me".

The second list is much shorter, I realise. This is because the only way you can consent is if you consent. You can even stop consenting during sex. At which point, consensual sex becomes rape. Of course, if the girl is absolutely silent and appears as relaxed/tense as before, the guy (in a world of sexual oh-my-gosh) might not be thinking of this and looking out for it. This is not a defence of the guy; everyone should check that people want sex all the way through sex. It just seems fair. And nice.

On a side note, how many people actually say, "Do you want to do this?" every time before actually having sex? How many guys really want to hear the true answer? Everyone's had that time when you're desperate to get laid, and your partner is like, "well, I'm not really up for it..." and you're just stuck, aroused as hell in the dark with a sleeping lump of person next to you. It's not fun... but, sex is just much better with consent. So, you can see where I'm going with this.

So, what about this responsibility issue? I think that girls should be careful, of course. Going home with a man you don't know is probably not the best way to stay safe, and incapacitating yourself through drink is, again, not wise. Neither action immediately implies consent to sex.

However, getting into bed naked with a guy you met hours ago could give the impression that you're "up for it". Being too drunk to realise you're pawing at a guy's clothes could give the impression of consent. I think girls should realise the power of actions. They speak louder than words, after all. I am not defending the rapist for "getting it a bit wrong." Clear consent is the only type of consent that's worth having. A slurred "yeah sure, go for it" isn't really consent.

TL;DR - girls should try not to give off the wrong signals, but guys should never use those signals as an excuse.

(I realise this post is pretty hetero-focused. I apologise; I don't know enough about queer rape issues to be able to comment on them. If anyone does know of news articles, etc, I can read, that'd be good.)