It wouldn't be make believe if you believed in me

Blogging in the library
Blogging in the library cause I'm so bored
Blogging in the library and the girl next to me is dressed entirely in pink and is freaking me out.
Helen had no labs today so she'd gone home by the time my mind-numbingly boring lecture finished. Honest to God I don't know what was going on and I wrote down nothing. My notes are some observations about the girl's hair in front of me. Wandered around to kill some time before trapping myself in the library and also to eat my lunch of a Bounty (because the vending machine decided that all chunkier and cheaper chocolate bars did not exist even though I could see them and totally typed in the number perfectly). Wandered into the wee arcade down the road. Fell in love with a notebook. I would have married this notebook. It was tall, thin, wrapped in stripey material with a cameo on the front. No price and a pitiful number of pages. It was impractical and although I have 3 pages of my diary left and no suitable replacement (I have started writing already in all of my remaining notebooks and none of them are as sturdy as my little paperblank) I could not bring myself to buy this one. But I can't stop thinking about it. So goddamn beautiful I could cry.

Wandered into Fopp instead to see what French films they had cheap. Walked straight into Rochester who is decidedly less attractive now that he got a hair cut but the side burns are still pretty good. I suspect, but his bag was in the way and I could not ascertain the truth, but I suspect that he is lacking in the ass department. Which is a problem as I don't trust assless men. Maybe it was just the food and sleep deprivation but he definitely looked skinnier than usual. Anyway he was on the phone and gave me a smile but I got bored and bought a dvd I can't afford and chatted with the very excitable salesman who praised my choice in film and raved about New Wave. Too tired so I just smiled.

Most adorable man was struggling to get on his bike with an enormous bouquet of flowers and I couldn't stop laughing at his attempts. He gave me this big sheepish grin as he passed and I just about melted with the cuteness.

I picked up the wrong book so I can't even waste time doing my Classics work. Bleh. 5 hours to kill tomorrow. What can one do in 5 hours? I could sleep, or go to the cinema but that's depressingly lonely, I could take the bus back and forth until I got ill, I could try and fix my novel that is dying on me, I could write cover letters for magazine submissions, I could charge up my gameboy and finish all the games I haven't finished, I could read the war between the science and arts faculties that's going on in the library toilet walls, I could finish all the novels I started to read over the holidays (I'm currently trying to read 6 books at once), I could phone up absolutely everybody I know in the hopes that they're free or I could go home and make a skirt out of a NYPD tshirt and abandon all intention of attending that lecture at 3.

Tough call.

A selection of thoughts written tween the hours of 10 and 2

With a whirr that interrupts the Landau Orchestra the blinds crawl up the great windows and the gothic spire looms before me. The clouds themselves part to let the light in. I sit in this cold, hard library chair and the sun, something we haven't seen much of lately, creeps in and makes me sneeze. My heart swells a little at the romance of the scene outside.

And just like that, the whirring noise disturbs my thoughts as the blinds come back down and I take one last look through half-lidded eyes and a too-long fringe. I have next Monday off. Maybe I'll get a haircut.

I'm studying gender again in History. I can't escape it. As a woman, naturally I care. At least it's modern history. Less "nuns, ahhh!" and more "women are boring and silly, lets laugh at them."

What is this song? Oh, man I know it, I know it. C'mon hurry up introduction. Oh, there we go, it's the Eels. Huh. I suck at recognising music.

I don't know whether it is the light or the angle but the window is doing crazy things. I can see the stacks trailing off into the sky and my daft nose floating in the middle of them. The roof in front of me is green and rusty. I think it's the hideous Boyd Orr that everyone hates. I love the view up here. I love going up to East Kilbride, or rather coming down from East Kilbride at that dip in the road where Glasgow stretches out before me and my heart soars. I remember drives through Argyle, round Loch Fyne. I kayaked in Loch Long. I'll be fieldtripping to Loch Tay. I've never been to Loch Ness. One of the Christophers did. He said he saw the monster. Ben who could pick his nose with his tongue confirmed the story.

The light and smell here reminds me of Iceland. Those brightly dull mornings. We went there in March when I was wee. Snow towering above my head. I was four and a quarter so I kept telling my dad's camera. "I'm four annna quarter and we are in Iceland and it is snowing and go way I wanna sleep now Dad. Stop being silly."

Laura and I used to say snow came from East Kilbride as we watched the cars come down the windy hill. She suggested we elope there until I pointed out elope meant running away and getting married.

There's a guy sitting next to me asleep. He has nice thighs.

My plaster is folded in the creases of my palm. When I stretch out it's as if the plaster is my skin.

The air conditioning makes my nose run and my arms shiver. I feel like I'm in an airport. Our flight was delayed once coming home from Rome or Barcelona. Everybody lay on the floor; huddled, bored and Glaswegian. It was cosy.

Y'know what, I'm goddamn proud of myself for being here. I told everybody I was going to get in and then I did. And I got an A in Archaeology.

Blinds are up again, the guy rearranges himself. Those thighs look comfy. If I was a lot more attractive and a little more crazy maybe I'd sit on them. I like sitting on people.

My hands smell of play-doh. They always do on a Monday after yesterday's clean. Rubber gloves? Chemicals? This looks like a job for science. Room is brighter now and emptier. My reflection beside me is mirror clear. I look scruffy. The guy is fast asleep again. My bic is sticky from the plaster. Plautus remains unread. The main building looks beautiful in the muted light. I want to jump that boy. Is that wrong? Wrong that I want him to wake up and see me and ask me out and take me back to his cramped apartment.

Valentine's Day is approaching. Dunno why I thought of that. How dull. Profess your love with chocolates and roses. What does it matter if you don't love her anyway. Although the roses on Byres Road look beautiful, but then they always do.

Once again love drives me on that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done - Sappho. Found on the toilet roll dispenser in the library toilet and I had to note it down.

Becky Stark is in my ears now. I want to scoop her up in my arms and carry her away. She would be wearing a white dress with flowers in her hair. But no time for love, Doctor Jones. Time for Sweeney Todd.