Quizzes!

I am terrible with online quizzes. I can spend hours clicking my way through boredom. The more ridiculous the better. Could you be pregnant? Well hell I don't know why don't you tell me internet.

Apparently I am probably not pregnant, if I was a crayon I would be purple, I am a man, my inner eye colour is brown (how dull) and I am 51% bipolar.

51% bipolar. That cracked me up.

I'm just making this up as I go along.

I have two archaeology exams, one I like to call sociology with dead things and the other is the Indy lessons with less adventure and excitement or general interest at all. Kind of like if the films were just him filling in paperwork.

Past papers for the first one are a series of questions. I must answer two tomorrow. The questions are generally a mix of the following:

Archaeology is a form of destruction. How should we preserve what we discover?

Is there a present bias when we look at the past?

Neanderthals, what's up with them?

People don't seem all that interested in heritage. How would you make it more interesting.

You've just dug up a famous figure's corpse. What now?

Darn those metal detectors! Discuss.

Do you ever stop and think academia is the most ridiculous way of accessing how intelligent a person is? I mean I'm sitting at an A in sociology with dead things for saying 'man, that church is old, we should make it into something new' and 'I don't think this website on vikings is reliable because the font is comic sans'. I got a B in the practicals for saying 'prehistory sure is old'. Oh it is insane, insane, insane.

If you close the door the night could last forever

Do you ever get the feeling that you're practicing living?

I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm going to try to explain. I wasn't even going to explain it to you, I planned it out somewhere else but changed my mind. I mean not that it really matters. Here you'll read it or glance at it. One or two of you might latch on to little things and ignore the rest. Others might bring things up I've forgotten I even wrote later and muddle my head a little. There nobody is really reading and those that are I don't know. Either way I'm just talking to myself because I never seem to have the time to talk to you.

I'm doing my utmost to be good. You know suppress my instinct that tells me to cancel everything! Hide out at home where nobody can see you. I have no idea what I'm afraid of. Make a decision and back track to get out of it. It's like I have to switch something off in my brain to have a goddamn good time. Somedays I'm too fucking indecisive to set foot outside my own house. I hate that. I really really do.

But yesterday I didn't let myself think. I woke up for five minutes and cursed my pillow and whisky for tasting so good and giving me headaches. And then I woke up later and wrote. Flurries and flurries of words. Go back and write them again and I'm waiting to see if I actually have the guts to finish any of it. But you know I am actually enjoying myself. I mean I want it all, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to hit it big, but little things like my dad telling me my dialogue was good even though I hadn't wanted him to read the piece he took it means a lot. It's not like I'm starved of praise or anything I'm just vain though I don't believe the things people say. I read my work and hear my voice and my thoughts and it's annoying. Like I could write the most amazing thing and never want to read it because I wrote it.

Anyway point, point, point. I digress far too much. I made myself go into uni even though I didn't know where the room I was going to was and I don't like getting a grade in front of other people in case I bombed. But it was my old archaeology guy from last semester who is like the nicest guy you could ever want teaching. Also I got a B. A B for saying hey guys prehistory is pretty goshdarn old dontcha think? Fuck yes I am awesome. I have one more essay to get back and if I get a good grade on that I have succeeded. Not that any of it really matters because I'm only at uni because I don't have anything else to do and bullshitting through essays is all I can do but whatever.

So then I'm like is that what I'm gonna do the rest of my life. Bullshit and bullshit until I hit an end? I write blind, I read blind, I live blind and sometimes I don't stop long enough to notice anything. Oi, oi, oi it is trouble. Though in all honesty everything is ok. May is dull but once the exams pass me I can breathe. There's no sense that maybe I should at least pretend to study. Trick my mind that I know this shit. My archaeology essay said I made good use of archaeological language. This is because I'm very good at throwing things in to make it sound like a know shit. Hmm maybe dendrochronology would be useful here?

I am very very slowly turning a darker shade of pale. I will never be brown but the freckles that faintly emerge make life more interesting. My fingernail joins up the dots. It's something to do. In a perfect world I'd be sitting in a sea of green with the sun on my face and a cigarette that wouldn't involve my father battering me and I would write a masterpiece and sleep happily. Instead I have to sit on concrete in the sun because the neighbours behind us are nudist crazy christians with a trampoline and the guy next door is cheerfully annoying with sheds to build and dogs that yap. there's a park three doors down but I wouldn't sit in it for love or money. It was a lot more fun when my rabbit wasn't dead. She made the concrete fluffier. I used to sprawl out on an old lounger thing that was suspiciously squeaky and sank in the middle. I'd lay there with gigantic sunglasses and a book and she would stretch out beneath me, occasionally nibbling at my fingers or my hair if it trailed down. I miss her.

I forgot my point. And the sweetest little song came on and I don't really care. I think it's the sun. I'm being unusually cheerful to strangers on buses and in shops which is good you know because I'm so fumbling clumsy. At least with a smile it feels all ok. I'm listening to After Hours by the way by the Velvet Underground which more people need to listen to because they were a pretty damn important band in the shaping of a lot of bands these days. I mean honest to go a huge part of the indie genre would not exist if they hadn't. Anyway it is the most sweetest little song and even if you don't bother your asses getting musically educated if you have seen the science of sleep the song Gael sings dressed up as a cat is the same song with different lyrics. And if you've seen brick you've heard the velvet underground. I'm saying this purely because I only ever get to talk about them (aside from my dad who adores them) to drunk guys that are usually in their mid-twenties who get very excited that when they asked the usual so what sort of music are you into and get a band that is actually good. Unfortunately you can actually see the conflict. Do I start a musical conversation with this girl or do I go hmm yes and try and kiss her again. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Last one talked to me and kissed my friend. That is greed right there.

I had the most intense dream. I was crushed in with too many people and everyone was talking too much and oh whatever. I'm tired now.

Have you ever, ever felt like this? When strange things happen are you going round the twist. You know there's a few conversations from a girl called Kirsty who is not the Kirsty some of you know but a different one who I was really close to when I was younger. Anyway one of them is that show and some episode she saw that I never did about the guy getting pregnant by a fairy while he was peeing against a tree. I do not know why I would remember that or if it even is a real episode. She also told me that she got on an 18 from east kilbride and it took her all the way into town before going home so we could never ever get on an 18 again because it was lies. I've been up and down from east kilbride twice in the past week. None of the many buses were 18s. God I loved her. I met her on the subway a while back. She goes to Glasgow now, she was always much smarter than she acted and dear god I just wanted to hug her and ask if her mum ever did get pregnant like Kirsty was so sure she was. But you know just cause you were inseparable as kids doesn't mean you can throw yourself onto them now.

She's reminded me of lesbians. Not because she is one but whatever. In the west end yesterday I saw this couple, all over each other with arms wrapped round like about twice and ending on the opposite ass and kissing all the time. It was like please put your joy away. I do not need to see lesbians licking each other. Anyway that isn't the story. The best part of this was they were not alone. There was a third girl walking beside them. Now you know how you get the pretty girl and her fat friend? Well this was the okish but lesbian couple and the fat friend. Oh how uncomfortable and left out she looked. It was sad yet I laughed far too loud on the bus as we passed them.

Dear god I've written a lot of shite and now my mum has brought me home a sandwich. Sweet free food, my life is fantastic.

Time exists but just on your wrist so don't panic

1480 words to go on a subject on which I have no opinion. I do not give a damn about the conspiracy, nor whose account is more useful. I've got little postit notes and highlighters. Pens and notepads. The barest sketch of a plan to a plan. Goddamn I should have started sooner. Instead there's been DIY films, peanut butter, pillow fights, feeling sorry for myself as I sniff into mugs of honeyed water, too many other things to write, I was supposed to link up the gamecube for Julie but I can't remember where I put that cable (please don't be in the cable bag, nothing ever gets found in the cable bag) this is going to be a drag. One full day left to get this done and at least I finished reading the texts. My fingers get distracted so easily. Cicero was a famous orator and could I make a dress out of that NYPD tshirt? I could use that long top pattern from my book of things to do with tshirts, extend it, got enough material to do that. Ideally it should be a shirt dress with the badge above my breast and pockets? In red? Goes with the navy. But it might be a little difficult to manage a collar. And by little I mean I'd definitely have to get my mum to help. But I do have shirt dresses so there's an instant pattern and sewing in front of my mum always makes her laugh. There's a lot of bum in the air, pins in my mouth and apparently a look of intense concentration as I try to cut in a straight line.

My hair actually looks nice today. You know those mornings when you wake up feeling pretty good, because essays and everything else that drags you down are still asleep. The sun is shining (where were you yesterday when I had to go outside?!) cold is abating and I look good. And I have to waste all of this on goddamn Romans. Bleh.

Coffee doesn't have enough sugar in it but I have so little left. Very nearly put castor sugar in instead, could have been interesting. Dad tuts at me, or he would if he was awake but he tuts every other time he watches me make coffee. Talks about how I should be taking care of my body or I'll regret it when I'm old. I point out I can lose weight on a diet of beer, rice, cheese, strawberries and bread and put it on when I actively try to eat properly, soberly and regularly. Sometimes I think my body does like me.

I'd rather be writing anything but this. Which is why I am here, whining at you, the internet. I figure it's a better way of wasting time than picking at the scab on my heel or watching my triangle fade or painting my nails with leftover polish. Oh, the glamour of my life.

This is a mouth that needs religion

I'm gonna be vulgar just a little bit, so unlike me I know, but it's getting ridiculous. Junk emails about sex and penis enlargement are not new and barely even register as I click the empty button anymore (although the Valentine's Day ones were highly amusing) but this past week I have received five separate emails with the same subject: "Can't fill up your girlfriend's mouth during a BJ? Your solution is here?"

First off I'm loving the whole non-committal attitude. Maybe the solution is here? Maybe just click a little? Not a scam, maybe? It's the quiet unassuming email buried underneath the loud horny bored housewives that want me and get a giant dick here proclamations. It's the bookish gawky one that after a few makeover montages just may be the belle of the school disco. But the problem! Is it a real problem? Are their unfortunate souls out there crying over their inadequate levels of spunk? My first thought was that it was some sort of revenge thing. You know for the guys with girlfriends who refuse to swallow. Take a bunch of sperm-increasing pills and BAM she won't know what hit her. I wouldn't put it past the internet. But the second question mark makes it seem too nice for that. Maybe the guy who invented them (or at least the subject) had a really critical girlfriend once. "God, can't even fill up my mouth. Some man you are." Cue insecurities.

And for something completely unrelated: I cannot stop laughing at the last panel.

The enjoyment that can be had from discussing the weather is second only to sex, and approximately equal to a good strong cup of tea.

What with the crazy storms outside, the miserable headache inside and the incessant dripping that kept breaking the barrier between the two, I did not get much sleep last night. Course I can't complain. My mother had none at all and woke to deal with my gran's shed; the roof of which had landed in a garden down the road. She's gone back to bed now, confused and angry.

Who broke the sky?

During the couple of hours I did sleep before Julie got up for school I had the craziest dream. I don't remember much now. Only that it was a musical. A musical involving lesbians and a plot about a missing ring. And it was ridiculously complicated and I was confused for much of it, trying to reason with the people around me.

I'm procrastinating. I can't study. There's a list of dates and names and pots I need to know by Monday and none of it is sticking. I am so sick of looking at aroused Satyrs and Greek men throwing up. Or the best one: a pot whose feet were shaped like male genitals "giving a shock to the holder." No shit the holder is shocked. He just wanted to enjoy a little wine, instead everyone is mocking him for holding the penis cup.

I'll have to drag my ass back to the library tomorrow. At least there is nothing to distract me there. Only smokers to sniff and fat women who hog three computer spaces and eat bananas loudly. You disgust me, fatty. And the toilets have the best graffiti. Only in a library would you find: "So girls, what's your favourite poem?" and someone highlighting the choice of Keats with a "YES TO THIS!"

Okay, I'm gonna stare at these pots some more. If my brain dies in the process you get 10 minutes to claim what you want of my possessions because I'm too tired to write a will.