As I anticipated, I am a rubbish blog-mother, in the same way that I am a rubbish plant-mother, and a rubbish friend, because I can't look after something for longer than my attention span permits, which is about 10 seconds. Sad - I know but I am back, not that I think anybody reads this, and I have nothing to say. Ha! But, like the people I live with, I simply continue, maybe tell the same story a couple of times more than necessary, simply because I'm bored and cannot come to terms with getting a hobby or so.
I have an excuse ready, if you like, I have been working on two essays, which I have handed in today, and rewarded myself with a trip to the cinema, to focus on something other than trying to write legible notes and transforming those into legible essays. I failed a bit, but for now, I'm just happy to have them out of the way. There are two dissertations to be written - and I sort of have two ideas/titles/fetishes that I consider making the essence of my life for the next 3 months or so. Due date is May 23rd, and until then, everything is uncanny or simply cinematic.
God, this is going to be a diary entry, isn't it? I've always been rubbish at those, too. So far, I've collected ideas and made lists and lists of potential titles, and every night I fall asleep thinking -this is the best title so far. I won't have to say that dissertation titles are not like Fiona: ogres by night and first class titles by day, very much the opposite. What seems to be the next Pulitzer at 1 am, is Metro's page 6 by day. Frustrating! However (that's the word to go with) I sort of know (that's probably the most-used phrase among fellow students right now) what i want to do. One title that I'm stuck with is 'A Lift to Die for', which sounds a bit like Arnie's next movie, or something that Mike Leigh could direct. My idea is to analyze how various characters' identities fade (away) until there is nothing left to fade, i.e. they die. Sounds crap, I know, but that's what I'm working with. My other dissertation hasn't even gone as far as to have a crap title: it's just 'work-in-progress' right now, or rather, 'work-in-contemplation-of-progress'. Channel Four is just a hint more interesting at any time of the day, than working out what to write on. Maybe heritage films. Maybe.
Sadly, I have no creative energy left (ever had) to be inspired enough to write something truly original, or at least something that hasn't been done before about one billion times. Right now, all my energy goes into choosing tomorrow's breakfast. And that's where it ends. Or not, I dedicate almost the same amount of energy and time to getting dressed and make-up, only to wear sweat pants and look like a tramp who found two lipsticks. Frustrating. Also, my iPod died last week, my computer is on its way out and I want new shoes, but I can't find any. Now that's something to complain about. I haven't been to the gym in a week, I look sluggish and my lethargy is growing like ivy. It's hopeless! Additionally, the sun's come out in the last few days, and whereas EVERYBODY else is enjoying themselves, constantly talking about the weather, I sit inside with swollen eyes because the first pollen are in the air. Happy days, now it's meds until September. If I am lucky. So here I sit now, at 20 to 10, feel guilty about the gigantic amounts of food I've stuffed myself with in the last couple of days, want to go back to the cinema and watch more of Never Let Me Go and just take a break from, well, taking a break. I want somebody else's life, and face, if that's possible. But only the life will do.
Sip of water, deep breath, and move on, girl! Get your ass up and going. May be I should pick three movies blindfolded and then write about them whatever comes into my head. Hm, maybe that's not a good idea, right now in my head is the thought: god, that scented candle sucks. I cannot recall a single movie that quote features in. Not even in Mike Leigh's. Though he is definitely the person to to when you're having a bad day and you need a pick-me-up, watching other people get drunk on your behalf. A pound of tiramisu has the same effect, but it's harder to get than a Mike Leigh film, and less improvised, so he says.I'm updating my facebook page about twice per second and nothing happens, apart from all the status updates about 'going home' or partying into the weekend. I think I need to throw up. I don't WANT to party - all I want is a week on my own, nobody else around, just the peacefulness of my own thoughts and the debris that's currently clattering my brain. I am effectively turning into a cat lady, minus the cat, I'm allergic. What prospects. I'll be the crazy old lady in the village who has fictional cats, because she can't afford to keep real ones and is also allergic to anything with fur. Maybe I'll get a parrot, like the old lady in 'The Ladykillers' (1955), the original version, of course, not the rubbish Tom Hanks version. I have some self-esteem left.
'Da steh' ich nun, ich armer Tor und bis so klug, als wie zuvor', said Faust when he realized that after studyig for so many years, he had nothing to brag about. Like nothing, apart from a couple of majors in Maths, Physics, Theology, Philosophy. Hello? He obviously had no problem writing a dissertation, or two. And yet, he is still complaining. That's the nature of mankind, I suppose. There is not limit to complaining, like a classmate of mine once said: 'Oh, my Cartier is ticking too loud'.
Maybe I just eat myself into an orgasm, like this woman I read about in a Metro article.
