If I cannot fly, let me sing

I don't have anything to say I just wanted that big rant to move away. I do rant a lot of crap when I'm tired.

What can I say that isn't ridiculous or boring. Not much really. I spent all my time yesterday that wasn't at Strathclyde reading. I figured I should maybe spend my 2 hours off doing some work. I know, I know. I'm a first year student and I did work. I keep forgetting I'm a first year again. I feel so old when I remember. My classes are full of people either straight out of school or much older people that complain it's so different from college. The annoying thing is when I tell people I restarted they assume I failed last year and I'm repeating the same subjects. They don't seem to get that I just made poor decisions. All because I let a boy sway my final choice. And he was only able to sway my choice because he got me to do his application. There's no way he would have got in to Glasgow on his own merits. But, thankfully, I didn't let that fact discourage me from choosing the University itself.

Anyway, I had several pages of sources to study and one of them was online. It's Rousseau's Emile in case anybody was interested. Reading him made me miss Philosophy. Those Tuesdays in that cosy classroom, talking football, Narnia and what love truly meant. I was the guinea pig for the next year since our school had determined that one Religious and Moral class was enough. So I had a class that the school didn't recognise and my teacher and I sipped tea and thought deeply. I read Plato and Hume and Descartes. I told him I wasn't in love with my boyfriend and my teacher told me he had met his wife in Uni and during his year out in London he'd slept with other women. He also went through every one in the actual Religious class and slagged them off. He told me about the philosopher (who's name sadly I've forgotten) who believed that morals were simply imposed by society, which in itself is nothing new but he chose to live his life ignoring all of these morals. So much so that even Paris was disgusted with him. And then there were the Jesus walking on water theories. The boyfriend accused me of having an affair with my Philosophy teacher. He was only half joking. Started complaining after I was late coming down to lunch because I stopped to talk. Crazy boy, I was far too boring back then to start an affair with anybody let alone an older married teacher.

Anyway, Emile. I must have written down a page and a half of quotes from that source, and I never finished it. It was full of these incredibly interesting insights about women. Explaining why women have to be the weaker sex, not because they are inferior but because if we were the bold sex we would have men completely under our thumb. Fascinating stuff. Not quite as fascinating as the stuff I keep finding scrawled on the walls of the toilets. I swear sometimes I just go for a read. There's a lot of debates and general female bonding going on in those stalls. If it wasn't so inappropriate I'd copy it all down and write a book.

There's Two Lads Sharing an Epiphany

I'm one third through my last essay. Pretty good really. I'm having a break since I've overwritten lately. Not anything academic like I should have of course but you know it's all good. I went far too long without picking up a pen, my fingers aren't as tough as they once were. I'm all happy cause I passed my first Classics essay although RobeMan did not take too kindly to my feminist arguments. Accused me of swallowing exaggerated ideas. He put the feminism on the reading list, not my fault if I agreed with them. But then I probably didn't argue very hard. What's the point when you're only asked to write 1500 words and then you get criticised for not mentioning one girl who turns up for half a chapter and is never heard of again. Anyway, essay going ok but absolutely have to finish tonight.

Ugh I'm bored.

I managed to find the most hilariously entertaining toilet in the library today. I could have spent all day reading the walls in there. There were whole manifestos and poems and people correcting spelling and grammar and then bitching about it. Sadly I had classes to go to and it's rather unseemly to spend all of one's time hanging around in a bathroom all day. One of the best ones was this long rant about how the patriarchy was holding us back and we should wake up and realise that men and women are the same which someone had circled and pointed out that we are very much different, which we should all have noticed seeing as we were in the toilet reading it. The first girl ended with a large slogan of "Peace Now" only someone else had crosses out the Peace and added in Piss.

There was also this dainty little sticker with a picture of the Uni on it, real smart looking, stuck on straight and neatly to the door. What was it for? Glasgow University Anarchy Group.

I was looking to see if the new Dirty Pretty Things album was coming out anytime soon when I realised that I read ages ago that Carl Barât has a sister who is also musical. So I looked her up and while I'm not usually a fan of female English accents I want to steal her voice and use it as my own. I'm sure she won't mind.
Listen for yourself.