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.)

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.)

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.

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. :)

Killing in the name (of conformity)

Funnily enough, writing this post, I am thinking of Jedward. Those awfully highly entertaining, just-plain-awful Irish boys from X Factor infamy.

I think of them because this post is to do with X Factor. Second, they are identical twins. Even though I write this largely independently (bar news sources, Daily Fail, etc), I have no doubt whatsoever that almost-identical copies of this post are out there, somewhere. (Minus blond quiffs, and hopefully not singing Ghostbusters).

So, what's been the fuss this week? X Factor is over, and so is Strictly. Finally we can stop hearing about these shows... or can we?

There's this thing called "Christmas Number One". It's like being the Number One single at any time of year, except it's at Christmas, so the sales are bigger (usually). There's also betting on who will be Number One, cos betting is fun.

For the past few years, the X Factor show has finished just in time for the single released by the winner to be Christmas Number One. Apart from the first series, every other series had got their Christmas Number One... well, except poor little Joe, winner of the latest series.

Joe was faced with the rage of the general public at Simon Cowell for taking away the thrill of a real Christmas Number One, and for ruining their telly with X Factor, Xtra Factor and his manufactured "stars". He also wears his trousers too high and his tshirts are a bit tight sometimes - I think people take this issue very seriously.

So, anyway. The song that won was fueled by a rage of its own - Rage Against The Machine. Four lovely boys from LA who got quite angry with The System and wanted to Fight It and get angry and write a good song about it.

The line that always causes contention is: "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!"

The thing is, RATM would have never won this Christmas rage without a good deal of conformity. It's all well and good for people to say "Fuck Simon! I'm buying my own choice of single, and not your cookie-cutter pop boy's Miley Cyrus cover drivel". What you get is Joe winning and random singles all over of the place getting one extra download.

What you need is a co-ordinated strike. Suspending your belief in a total anarchy to create an anarchy-lite of sorts.

Moral of the story: If you want to Fight The System effectively, you have to create your own. But, we knew that already.

Thank you, Professor Jones.

He was my favourite lecturer in second year (combination of actually being interested in what he taught, and just liking him). In the lectures he would do, he'd write quite swiftly, and as a result, often misplace the bars of t's. So, we spent a good deal of time studying "integralion". Which I enjoyed immensely, since lions are one of my favourite types of catcat.

Every now and again, we'd be looking at "partilions". I actually drew pictures of a partilion in the margins of my notes. They'd often look like this:



You can tell he is a partilion because of his long brightly coloured hair, and dancing shoes.

Sometimes, we'd be seeing quite a lot of funclions.


The step funclion is going for an 80's vibe here. You can't really do a step class without legwarmers. And, the regulated funclion just looks groovy and cool.

There are many more lions in maths than the university prospectuses would like you to think.

I went up north again...

... and of course, my lovely boyfriend was both boyfriend-y and lovely.

There were a few people that made that trip kinda cool, in random encounter ways. I shall tell you about them!

• The scruffy boy who was crocheting. I pulled out my knitting (in the round, for portability) and his face just quietly lit up and we just created things out of thread until my train pulled up. I gave him a small nod before I boarded; he returned it.
• The very well-dressed man on the final leg of the journey back home. He had some text he was madly scrawling on, circling violently with a black rollerball, while he typed into his laptop. He had a plain, but battered, silver band on his left ring finger. He seemed like he might be interesting to the eye, but possibly disappointing if he ever spoke.
• The 16 year old who went up north to visit his mother. He's in college.
• The cute Virgin employee who told me what changes to do to get home.
• The friendly employees at an Upper Crust who gave me free hot water, sugar and milk so that I could do chai in between changes.
• The tall Scottish girl in Converses and straight-leg jeans reading The Bell Jar.
  

I really want to write. I feel like I'm right in that place. The play were, if the idea is there, the words just seep out of me, like blood. I feel so dry right now though. Descriptions are easy. If I find myself in a place, I could describe it pretty artistically, but... nothing original of my own is happening. I had the idea, the one about the building, and the outcasts and the torture, but I have no idea what story that fits into. I hope it fits into a story. It seems too good an idea to let go of completely.

If I could just fast-forward this summer, and get to the end of September, then I could just spend a week cuddling with my boyfriend. That's a lot more fun than fetching shoes.

Does anyone grow up? Ever?

Not if you're in politics, you don't. D and I were discussing politics and history in bed... we tend to do this a lot these days. It's awesome, because it combines two of my favourite things - naked and learning.

We realised that the world is essentially like school. Cliques, and gangs, and kids that get picked on, and so on. To make my typing easier, all the countries are going to be somewhat male-gendered. Here's what we thought...

~~~

First of all, there's USA, with his cousin Canada. USA is the jock on the playground, except he's got a really rich dad as well, so you don't mess with him. That, and he has a bizarre thing that he thinks God endorses his right to be the coolest kid on the playground. Canada's cool, and a little annoyed that everyone thinks that, since he's USA's cousin, they must be similar. He's just happy, being nice to everyone.

They like to hang out with UK, France, and other places like that. They sometimes have little friendship groups - like Eurozone, and NATO - within the huge group they like to call the Cool West Gang. They like to eat USA's cake and hang out, and basically rule the playground, since they all have quite rich parents. But, not quite as rich as USA.

There are some kids that nobody wants to play with. Take Zimbabwe. He's the kid with really bad lice and generally poor hygiene, and his parents are too self-absorbed and mental to pay attention and fix it. Because of his problems, none of the kids from the Cool West are allowed to play with him, which is a shame. Zimbabwe gets lonely.

There are some kids like Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan, who don't like USA's influence on the playground. So, they'll flick marbles at USA and generally annoy him. Sometimes, USA will beat up one of them, to show that you shouldn't mess with him, except it just makes them even more annoyed.

Saudi Arabia is the kid who's kinda friends outside of school with UK, and has ridiculously rich parents. Nobody really wants to fight the kid with that much money.

Japan's the kid who tends to sit by himself, playing the very latest portable games console and drawing pictures of killer robots and partially clothed girls getting attacked by tentacles. He went a little berserk attacking various countries a while ago, but USA firmly put him in his place by shattering his two prized marbles. So, he's quiet now, and invites everyone in school to his massive parties where he gives out free Gameboys and pens. [Well, everyone except China.]

There's a bit of the playground near the playing field that used to be Palestine's. He was happy enough with it - it had some fairly shiny stones and a nice shady patch under a tree. Then, the Cool West saw that Israel was getting bullied a lot, with no real place to fit in. They offered him Palestine's corner by the field cos it kinda looked empty, and Israel's dad used to play there as a boy, apparantly. Ever since, they've been fighting over that tiny patch of land.

There's the twin brothers, India and Pakistan. Their parents broke up very badly and now they're brought up so differently that they can't get on at all. They fight nearly all the time, except when they're playing cricket, which is quite surprising, but nice. Their little sister, Bangladesh, is pretty cool, but she doesn't go to their school.

Some other kids that are around, but don't really get involved in squabbles too much are Australia, the friendly zany kid who is secretly amazing at sport, and his cousin New Zealand, who's also friendly, and his dad has a sheep farm. There's the quiet kids who make up a little Pacific group, and they hang out with Australia and New Zealand sometimes.

Even though USA would like to think he's the biggest kid on the tarmac, there is one kid that he's afraid of, although he wouldn't say that to his friends. China, the new kid, transferred a while ago from another school. He's tall, and extremely well-fed. His father worked very hard for a long time, and did some pretty awful things, but then he became pretty rich, and some other parents who secretly worked with him got really rich too. Suddenly, China's become a real threat. He doesn't care that the Cool West won't play with Zimbabwe, and places like that - he trades his cake there for things they have and he needs, like marbles and shiny stones.

Russia's a bit of a headcase. He used to be have his own little gang, governed by the fear of being alone and easily picked on, but after a while, the kids realised that they wanted to get with the Cool Kids gang, and eat Liberal Cake with the Eurozone. With a pretty unstable homelife, he comes to school and picks on the kids that haven't quite got round to getting in with the Cool West, but have definitely abandoned him. A while ago, Russia promised pencils to the kids like Ukraine who can't get their own, and every so often, to exert his power, simply decides not to give out pencils anymore, which means that taking tests and writing notes becomes very difficult. Eventually, Russia is poked enough by the Cool West gang to reluctantly start giving them out again. Everyone's a little worried that one day, he'll just come in and go beserk on everyone, but since he's so messed up, it's not too much of a threat.

Every now and again, there's some playground gossip that USA or UK has been hanging around South America's corner of the playground, in search of illicit toys from home and Red Bull. It's common knowledge that kids like Columbia are doing quite well of their business, although it's never talked about.

The best thing about being one of the original Cool West gang members is that you never get caught AND punished. There was a time in the playground when there was the first total playground war. Everyone was fighting everyone. Germany threw a few mud clods with hidden rocks in it, and UK ripped Germany's uniform and beat him up really bad. When the dust had settled, and Germany and his friends finally gave up, the Cool West gang of the time deemed his mud clod actions to be more heinous than uniform ripping, even though both of them are pretty awful [in playground terms].

And, minus most religion-y bits, this is the world. Once you get religion involved, it becomes much more complicated. That always seems to be the case with religion.

~~~

My thoughts on the Middle East lack-of-peace? Not enough cake. Not in the slightest. I would be more than happy to fund the cake, of course, and provide wheat/dairy-free versions for those who require them. Icing is optional, but cake never is.

*shiver* Cold bed is cold...

This time, last year, I was still under the wicked spell of A. It's bizarre, how someone could be such an effect on a part of your life for so long... Nearly three years, we were on and off, always more off than on. There'd be interludes, where I might have someone, but then, for some reason, the circle always came back to being in his room, lovingly bruised and staring at his Star Trek DVD collection while he caught his breath and told me I was fabulous.

No more. I don't remember the exact time the chain broke, but something did. Maybe I realised that I have a future, and, right now, he doesn't.

I always had to defend A so much, things he'd say or do, the way he'd disappear for months and then just pop back into my life. The unexplained MySpace changes, his constantly mysterious relationships with his female friends... so much. I never really became a jealous mad woman unless I was talking with, or thinking about, him.

Despite the fact that I still have pretty low self-esteem, I can see that I deserve more than what A is able to give me. He promised things would be better, and he'd try harder, but... I never saw a change. It was always so much disappointment, so much bitterness.

Everyone always told me he was no good for me, and yet I always kept coming back, because I knew he would take me, and I didn't think I could do any better.

I can. I know this now. Being with D has made me realise that I'm not a horrendous person. I do deserve happiness. I do deserve someone who doesn't promise things that can't be delivered. He is the best boyfriend I have ever had, and I still think to myself that I don't deserve someone as amazing and genuine and real and funny and silly and gorgeous as him. He is my favourite.

~~~

I was contemplating in the shower, singing as I always do, and it occured to me that I hadn't written a poem for months, for over a year. Victory's sequel never got finished. I just can't write right now. I only seem to write when I am depressed.

Some of my favourite poems I've written are still a little painful for me to read now, because I'm just transported to how I felt that day when I wrote it, and the emotion is still so fresh, even though it was so long ago. It reminds me of those Bad Days in school, the times where I'd write alone, or sketch badly in a notebook constantly shoved in a bag or pocket.

If I had to choose between being happy with D and writing poetry again, I'd pick D. Every single time.

One day, I might learn how to write powerfully without actually having to be in that painful place... but, that day is not today, sadly. So, I guess that I will just have to deal with that, and read my poems, be reminded of those days, and look at the girl I once was, and compare her to the woman I am now.

I've grown... and that's so cool. And, it sounds so clichéd and stuff, but... D's really helped. First Year was so tough, and this year's so stressful, and I've never been with someone for so long, and in such a stable way, and... it's all new and cool... It's just like having \begin {cuddleh time} and the corresponding \end doesn't exist... [yes, I stole this idea from you!]

I'm tired, because it's quite late... but... Yay. I am so blessed. This is amazing. You're amazing. I am so happy, although I am temporarily sad because D is not here... but this will be corrected soon, and happiness will be mine.

A, you lost out. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if he'd actually treated me better when he was crap. I don't think about it for too long, because D is incredibly amazing in lots and lots of ways, and I am keeping my cuddleh. In a blue box.

<3

Bitterness. [warning! Emo post is a tad emo]

Jimmy Eat World did a song called Sweetness. A group of girls covered it for House music competition before I'd heard the original. Once I heard how they'd butchered a fairly decent slab of... pop rock/punk/emo-kid-fodder, I laughed.

The lead of this group of girls did a cover of Mr Brightside on piano; I found it on her Myspazz music page. She murdered it. I nearly cried.

I'm thinking of covering Jimmy Mack, but instead of some guy chatting her up while Jimmy's gone, it'll be a girl. It's almost so Katy Perry, except I'm genuinely gay. So there!

~~~

Facing people who I used to crush on is weird. I'm going to a birthday meal for a girl who I *really liked* when I was 16 ish. She'll probably have her boyfriend with her. It's going to be weird. I'm pretty sure I don't feel that way about her any more. I'm still a little nervous. I'm still spending a little too long deciding what to wear, or whether to add a tiny bit of jewellery, in the hope that she'll tell me I look good, or whatever.

Being 16 was quite awful.

I can't go to the party of another old flame. As much as I have put the Us thing behind us, I think it'll be too weird. And... it's not like I want us to get back together, or I want things to be different. I think I'm going to feel this way forever.

I'm just glad he's not in my "frequent IRL contact" friendship group.

~~~

I just want Monday to come quickly. I fear that I'm slipping back into being the girl I was last summer. I hated that girl.

I want my life back! :p

[EDIT: I just softened it a little. I'm not a crazy mad stalker girl. Just crazy mad.]

ARGH >_<

So, I found myself humming/singing fragments of some songs I just discovered in my head. That's the way I write songs, and poems. I just think and then I find a piece of something worth using, nestled in my mind. It's weird for me, because I never feel like my poems are mine, because they feel like they were put in my head by someone else, even though, on reflection, it's clearly my pain in there. I even wrote a poem about how I feel about my own word a while back. [Together with two others, I won the school poetry competition with it, hellz yeah!]

I didn't have any manuscript paper to note down a melody, or chords, and I was quite busy working [or looking like I was working, so that Manager Man wouldn't swoop down on me] so I couldn't even write lyrics down. But, lyrics tend to stay; melodies don't, on the whole.

I get back home. I remember a few of the words, but not which song they belong to, none of the melodies.

Creativity fail.

It's a little bit irritating for me because it's the first time I've felt inspired by D enough to find myself with a fragment of something I can use. He makes me too happy to write, cos I find that I've written my best material in that beautiful little intersection of "feeling pretty down", "on the verge of tears" and "I can't do any of this any more, I just can't". And, I just don't go there much anymore, because I think of D, and I just bounce right back up to "almost happy", which is a damn sight better than what I felt for most of last year.

I think I'll persevere with it. I might be in The Zone. My wrists are pretty weak right now, I can hardly hold up Elvis for long, but I might be able to pen some lyrics and get a few chords out before I have wrist fail again.

Or, I could rest a bit. Damn ibuprofen fail. It's supposed to STOP THE PAIN. Dammit. Only one day of work left. Start of the Christmas pick. Which means more work, harder work, and increased wrist fail, no doubt. Only one day left. I'll tough it out; no choice.

This juxtaposition of fail and win is kinda sucky.