For I have got firsts in both of my last essays- one on Chaucer, God knows how I pulled that off, and secondly my one for modal verbs. Which included the sentence; “I can’t speak Klingon, but I could if I wanted to.”
I seem determined to get Star Trek into every essay I write. This is not a bad thing.
The sun is still here. Beginning to get suspicious. I hope it will not stimulate triffid growth.
I coxed the Men’s First VIII in a race against Newcastle Uni today. Completely unexpected, good fun, but I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it.
The sun came out.
Swans were on the river today. This was weird, because I’d never seen any before, and we watched Black Swan last night.
I just met the teacher-i-would-have-liked-to-fuck on the tube on the way back. Random times. He told me about how he had stolen his baby son’s dinner.
Just realised my combined hours of sleep since friday has been nine. This is displeasing, as I’m normally pretty good about getting sleep.
Did I mention the sun came out? Like, big stylie? Mindfuck.
I’m in desperate need of stylish male friends in London to style for me and ugh.
preaching to the choir, girl.
- grey pyjama bottoms with white polka dots
- two thermal tops, a t-shirt and a UCL rugby shirt
- with a paper bird on my head. I’m not kidding.
Let’s run this bitch down.
Things annoying me right now:
- Our internet speed.
Things scaring me right now:
- Seat-racing the remaining senior cox for the senior boys (or girls’) first eight.
- Many many things.
Things I want right now:
- A hug.
- Some pasta.
- Some decent new music.
Things that are pretty groovy right now:
- Getting a shot for the senior crew. Drove the Felippi for the first time and it was lovely.
- Finally started on my MOUNTAIN of editing. A fucking shitload more to do.
- “Hunger is temporary. Glory lasts forever.”
- I actually read the right book for my Colonial Literature seminar and contributed without thinking ‘oh my god what the actual fuck is my brain’.
More specifically, a university crew who will remain unnamed (it wasn’t us) capsized an EIGHT. This is…very hard to do. I probably would have congratulated them if I hadn’t been shit scared (if I capsize an eight there’s a very real, very high chance I’ll drown due to wearing waders :P)/laughing myself into a coma inside. Coastgaurd got involved and all, rocking up to our launching bay with lights going.
Was a pretty bad day for capsizing all around; a sculler went down from a club near Hammersmith. The rower was scooped up by Woody, and the boat itself by The Deathstar (dude coaching us; I was coxing girls),which proved quite amusing as he powered down the Tideway in what was essentially two boats.
Taking out the senior dudes later; I have a feeling it’s my audition for the upcoming Head race.
In interests of procrastinating my essay, I have compiled a list of my ideal eight. Will probably only be of interest to Jo.
Have been up since half five, and its still not properly light yet. What the actual fuck is my life.
So Lord F was having sex with his girlfriend in his room, which is next to mine.
I played the anti-sex playlist through the wall. It’s called ‘The Wilter’.
I made him come to the Star Trek theme.
With only one female model. Hmm, methinks I need to address this balance. But first I need to:
- Give a crap about this essay to the point where I can actually finish it.
- Deal with my massive backlog of editing, which includes sorting my harddrive and tablet the fuck out.
- Stop watching Glee.
- Stop provoking Sir T.
- Find a way of maintaining a high, healthy energy level without abusing caffeine, which just makes me go nucking futs.