That Which Falls, Has No Saving Grace.

This week has probably been the busiest week to date; 2 presentations, 2 papers to be thinking about (and of course doing 1), multiple people heading into the city from school etc. But despite all this happening, I just feel as if it's all passed in one massive smokescreen. 

I can't remember anything, there isn't one finite detail I can recollect that means anything. Is this how it's meant to be? That we're all hardened to routine so much that even meeting with friends is reduced to nothing more than an intangible  memory? Perhaps it's just my pre-exam season anxiety, perhaps it's a phase that will pass after the weekend, perhaps it's something profound and life-long.

Whatever it is, I don't like it. 'Indifference is the worse thing anyone can feel', as i fondly recollect my mother telling me at a young age. But it's like as if it's inbuilt to our nature...whether in exhibiting a polite tendency to  go with the status quo or plainly because we're just not bothered.

Life at 19 shouldn't be this nonchalant. I mean, where the hell is the energy? Where is the passion to live, to breathe, to desire? Oh how passive we are to the moment yet so keen to tune ourselves into the power of retrospect. I remember something myself and Cheryl typed to Meagan whilst tipsy the other night and although whilst tipsy, it inspires, 'Live as such without regret and love like you mean it'. 

Breaking free of the tendency to be indifferent and drawing closer to my purpose is definitely going to be hard work but fulfilling once I crack the nut. All i know, is that i do not want to surrender my life to painstaking sadness, a life of stoicism and complete removal from the ability to be compassionate.

Alala Alala

For the whole week, my essence has been sitting on a bubble being carried away with each thudding beat in Digitalism's soundtrack. I have to say, I haven't felt this good in ages!!!

I also spoke to Cheryl whilst on a quick Starbucks session after my class and she has regained that magical sparkle to her voice...much like the happiness a person experiences when finding a £20 note in a coat pocket that they'd forgotten about!

Ahh, what a lovely end to the week. The world rages on; more developments unfold in the primaries, the rioting in Serbia but on a less international scale, SOAS has been good. I think i've learnt to accept it's shortcomings and just immerse myself in the monolithic element that is popularised as 'The SOAS Spirit'; synonymous with love for the planet, love for each other (unless you're right-wing) and a quasi-obsession with the conflict in Burma, Pakistan and plight of Africa but that's all appropriate seeing as it is the School of Oriental and African Studies.

It's been a difficult few weeks but i'm getting the knack of doing several hours of work a day regardless of my time table. Honestly, getting into the habit of just doing something has required nothing more than a complete break with past habits. We've all been through the phases where we're trying to reassure ourselves, 'OH, I'LL WORK HARDER NEXT YEAR AND DO BETTER. YEAHH'. the funny thing is we said that to ourselves in our GCSEs, our A-Levels and it's certainly transferrable to university. I honestly think UK universities in general lack the same inbuilt ethos to study as our 'on the other side of the pond' East-Coast equivalents. Also, the competition at SOAS isn't as ferocious. This works for some but i need competition, i thrive on it. Not to the point where i sustain myself on the relative failure of others but just knowing where i am positioned in a class and the quality of my work hence.

So the plans for tonight? It's Tim's boifday and he's going for pre-drinks at some pub and moving to LSE Crush. I envy the fact LSE has it's own club...where the hell is the SOAS equivalent?...Dare i say given the alternative and non-commerical vibe at SOAS, their idea of a club and music would probably be some guy up a tree banging some drums and fingering a banjo. FANKS BU' NO FANKS.

I'm so hyper right now, i'm dancing around whilst on the phone to Adam. OOF.

Fresh Beats Comin Atcha

With left foot perched on the bed frame, right foot arched on the carpet and both hands typing vigorously away only to pause for a momentary ejaculation of ideas in my head. I type away the end of this frankly busy day. 

I've just returned home having spent a few hours with Josh going through Econometrics lecture notes. That shit fries my brain every time and we spent so much time arguing about the concepts and why this wasn't that and what the point of semi-logging was when we could lin-log a model...or so we thought. It degenerated into a quasi-Jeremy Kyle show but without the drunks, the deadbeats and emotionally retarded or numb...maybe a blend of both. Nonetheless, we endured the pain together through collective consumption of a packet of Oreos, copious amounts of Orange and Honey tea that were buttressed by two episodes of Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. That sexy bastard.

Running out of milk is not something that bodes well with me given my obsession for milk-based drinks. I'll probably pop out to the not very late, 'late night shopper'; a newsagents that closes at 11pm...now forgive me but i thought they'd be meaning 3am where i could pop in after a night out completely mushed, slushed and positively gushed and still be able to pick up my milk and breakfast oats for the morning that awaited after I embraced my bed. 

Also, the boy in there is rather (forgive me lord), 'ghetto'. With his body adorned with Adidas track jackets and low-rise baggy gym pants he can't help but raise a few of my thin black hairs or so. But he's missing a gold neckchain...the sort that is actually sprayed with gold paint and possibly poisons a person to death seeing as its rusts at the slightest exposure to rain.

It's been a good start to the week. Listening to New Young Pony Club and Digitalism has really perked me up which is inappropriate given the fullness of evening but i'll be able to sleep like a new-born puppy tonight if i manage to somehow release the energy...

On that note i will force myself to jump on the spot for 40 minutes, heart permitting, and just see whether or not i can burn myself out. 

A Private Reverie

For the first time in 9 or so years, I have taken ibuprofen...I'd always been so resistant to commerical, mass-produced drugs but given the severity of my headache after last night's shenanigans with Cheryl I just had to nip the pain some how.

Last night was tres tres tres good fun. As i'm sure Miss 'This Cake Is Raw' will put up pictures later to show off our collective triumph, we attempted one of Nigella's recipes titled, 'Slow-roasted garlic and lemon chicken'. And boy oh boy Nigella was not kidding...slow-roasted translated into leaving the chicken for 2 hours in the oven whilst mine and Cheryl's stomaches made the most varied of sounds but all leaning towards a reasonance of outright hunger.

I've never had to deal with a whole chicken before and given Nigella's insistence on the use of a whole chicken and to get 10 pieces from it, I had no choice but to dislocate the chicken thighs from the sockets and its poor wings aswell. Of course, I like to play with my food and was faffing the wings in the air pretending i had finger extensions to the amusement of Cheryl. My mother on the phone who i'd called for moral and cooking guidance...was not.

2 hours passed and as 'As Good As It Gets' played itself out 'ever so slowly' to quote Cheryl, a deep aroma of lemony garlic filled the pits of our stomachs and made us yearn to eat the fruits of our labour. I have to admit, when it did come down to eating...our first time at making such a dish wasn't too bad. The chicken wasn't overcooking and we'd glazed the meat with just the right amount of oil. Tres delicieux in all.

True to my friends' words, Sylvester Stallone was on the Jonathan Ross show. It must have been a good week for him; BAFTAs, Dorchester, BBC Studio. And he's probably out on the circuit promoting his new film which i reserve no opinion on as of yet. He's not just going to be another giant hulk moving around the forests of somewhere in South East Asia fighting rebel soldiers again. There'll be something more to it...I'm sure...

Given my acute onset of headache today, i conclude that wine will never touch these lips of mine again. But of course there'll be other ways of getting round it...like injecting it into my arm. Oh dear.

Dream About Me

It's ridiculous o'clock in the morning in London and rather than being in bed, I am waiting for a Family Guy episode to load! Oh what a pointless sacrifice for something so sweet as sleep but after spending the past 5 hours doing Japanese, I need to relax!

The weekend was rather spendidoso. My sister came down from the North to visit me and boy oh boy...we had fun. We took a long walk around Central London on Saturday that was followed by watching Mikado at the London Coliseum which was absolutely hilarious. I love the way they parodied the Japanese as a cruel, brutal race. Oh the contemporary twists and pedantic well-pronounced cast members they incorporated naturally echoed that classic British wit and humour! A must see for all I consider.

Having finished up there, I received a call from Freddie asking me whether or not I wanted to go out. He was extremely irritated at me on Friday for turning him down and seeing as he was flying to China on Sunday I figured that i owed him that respect to do so and enjoy his final night!

I won't go into good depth but the night started off terribly and only did things improve when i dragged Freddie away from the delights of NW1; some seedy place called 'Positively 14th Street' hardly got me gasping with excitement...if I was gasping, it was for air because i was choking on the air of debauchery inside. 

We ended up at his favourite hide, G-A-Y and little did we know that the Feeling were playing! Despite the time being 1.30, we still managed to see them play 3 of their best songs they'd saved till last and morevero, TO SEE THEM DRESS UP AS MEMBERS OF THE SPICE GIRLS. Naturally I'll have to play devil's advocate and say that was for wooing a loyal gay fan-base!

We'd ended the night on a positive and it is with little hesitancy that i assert we were both rather...mushed. I made my way home and he walked it back to Azeeta's place!

Come Sunday morning, i was definitely reeling in the hangover of my own making but this passed as i took to a place of Egg's Benedict my sister made me accompanied with a jug of water just to re-hydrate my self. Oh it was delicious and i savour every moment she makes such a treat for me!

So Sunday was the day she'd booked a tea session at the Dorchester Hotel. How civilised! Our alloted time was from 14.30 till 16.15 and given my sister's anal tendencies to be early (despite my use of the word anal, i accept it's definitely a good thing), we left the house 1 hour and 30 minutes before we were due at the Dorchester.

After taking to the bus, then the tube and alighting at Hyde Park Corner, we had to navigate a series of chicanes in the road that led us eventually (and on time thank goodness) to the Dorchester!

Oh the ecstasy that followed was immense. Everyone is quite aware of my tea-obsession; i live it, i breathe it and i most certainly drink it. I tried the 'East Frisian' blend that was absolutely decadent. It was strong and bold on it's own but once i added two sugars...it had a subtler, refined taste to it. Oh how a euphemism is dying to drawn from that.

Nonetheless, the highlight of the tea session was marked by the entry of Sylvester Stallone into the promenade!!! WHAT A TREAT, my sister and I pondered.

He looked as fresh as he did 26 years ago when he'd finished casting for Rambo 1. He has defied age terribly well and he entertains a 'swaggish' walk that every man should aspire to recreate at some point during their lives. My sister at this point had inundated her friends with texts and responses were naturally geared towards getting an autograph. One of her friends had said she was such a fan of Stallone that she named her dog after him. My only reply to my sister at this point was, "I somehow don't think he will be too happy with knowing his prized name was used to call a dog". But it was all jokes. These two ladies from Wales melted in their seats as Stalone walked past them. I can only attribute this to the radiation from his testosterone.

The episode's finishing loading! COME ON MY SON.

Smokescreen.

So this is it. Reading week is tomorrow. 

Whether or not I am able to make a break with the past and gain inspiration from the desire to self-improve and increase the agility and speed to which I work will all be decided this week. I need to remove the distractions, stop wasting ridiculous amounts of time and just surround myself with positive, studious equals.

I guess it'll be my own little 'Super Tuesday' allbeit at a less glamorous stage and where I'm still trying to carve a place for myself in this big world. Sigh.

Fear Strikes

So I'm just about to pump half a gallon of caffeine into my body before attempting the UBS online numerical test. I don't know why I feel so jittery about doing it, perhaps it's because I've convinced myself that there is so much at stake and that i need to get this in order to 'push the button' for a concrete slab to fall in front of me that allows me to progress to the next stage.

But it has to be done. I can't not do it, how ridiculous would that be? I'm going to just sit here and let 'Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl' carry away any doubts i hold inside myself.

It's about time i believed and replace those ethereal cobwebs with a quiet confidence.

Ahh. So is life. Reading week begins this Friday and all I can think of is how closer and closer exams in May are coming...the preparation beckons indeed. Nonetheless, I'm hoping to just sit down and get on with it. My time at Swarthmore College imbued me with so much hope for the future, so much motivation and a desire to live...not to solely exist. 

I can't wait to see my special girl again for her graduation, it inspires me to work so hard so as to allow me to feel as if i deserve to be there, that i deserve to share in such a momentous occasion. I miss her so much!!!

And I'm sure everyone, who are frankly more than aware of how attached i am to Hillary, will appreciate the fact that i'm half way through her biography and that means I am just 250 pages away from starting Barack Obama's autobiography. I'm looking forwards to reading it. I just don't understand why everyone assumes i hate him. I don't! I just have a preference, that's all! 

10 Packs of Ibuprofen Please

Having just returned home after watching Cloverfield, it is with little mental effort (and thank god) i can assert that i'm feel suitably nauseated, disoriented and cranially submerged in some sort of post narcotics taking state. 

I'm yet to be able to get my head around all the sharp, rapid and graphically intense images that my poor frontal lobe has had to absorb. Many have told me it isn't worth the hype which i can agree with but i don't think it's the poorest film by far. Yet, one of my deepest criticisms is just how exposed the 'thing' was so early on in the film. At times, it was insipid and lacking in something but then i just guess it's appropriate for the setting; these people are completely disorganised and equally, if not, more disoriented than I am! Nonetheless, there were exasperated sighs of disappointment among the audience as the ending drew to a close. 

I'd like to think of the film as the New York enduring a similar structural battering as London did in 28 weeks later. I'll never be able to forgive the Americans for firebombing my beloved Canary Wharf in that motion picture and naturally it was a masculine gruff who gave the command to do so. However, now is not the time for me to be embarking on a discourse into stereotypes of men in media.

GOOD NIGHT.

A Novelty

So I've gained inspiration from Cheryl to condense my thoughts into the expressive realm that is internet blogging. Liberating I'm sure it will be.

The school day has finished! Hardly long and arduous given the fact that my only class was from 10 till 11 am. But even so, I encountered great difficulty in removing myself from the retirement home-esque comfort that my double bed offers me. Nonetheless, I concluded I would learn nothing whilst trapped in the confines of my gargantuan duvet that so separates me from the fresh cold air seeping in through the window and the stagnant warm layer inside.

Given that it is a Friday, I'm certainly lacking in a party mood. Freddie definitely tried to stoke some enthusiasm up whilst on the phone to me before; I don't want his efforts to be wasted so I figure I'll go for a run around the park or just do something that's engaging that somewhat lifts me onto higher emotional planes. The past week has been pretty rough, the recognition of many sharp realities and long-running ritual mistakes have yielded the need to be treated immediately rather than postponed to a time of a better mood. As vague as I will leave them now  but sure to be elaborated upon at a later date, they have to be nipped in the bud now when the ground is still fertile and chance still remains. However, I have found a safe sanctuary in the pages of Hillary Clinton's biography and frankly, it's positively engrossing. At the times my bag is full, I'm happy to parade her face on the bus and tube as I take her in my hand to and from places. I think this quasi-obsession is growing...sure, it possesses negative connotations but it's something I need to embrace. I need to feel inspired and am now looking West of this country to attain it.

For the moment however, I need to nap, refresh and then sit down to a warm cup of Earl Grey whilst pondering what lays ahead for the day.