January 10, 2005

Death Becomes Her

According to the clock and the calendar, I have an exam today, but according to my brain, it is not until tomorrow.

I can remember the period when I was a child when I first heard that the next day begins, not in the morning as I had presumed, but at midnight. A pretentious little girl who lived on my street informed me. Her mother had apparently recently filled her in on this little factoid. I completely and utterly did not believe her. She was the kind of precocious seven year old who spent too much time with grown-ups, and was full of adult phrases such as "oh for pete's sake" and "meet me at 12 o'clock sharp". She also called her mother "Phil" instead of Mammy. Like...piss off. I only hang around with you because you have a climbing frame, swings and a slide in your back garden. And your mother gives us Smarties based on our age. (Yes, she actually gave you four Smarties if your were four, and twelve if you were twelve. Being the youngest child on our street, the injustice of this was unbearable for me.)

I was far too sensible to believe that the new day began in the middle of the night. God, how dumb could you get? Middle of the night indeed. The new day begins in the morning.

I stand by that.

I belatedly saw Fahrenheit 9/11 last night and it was so bad that I shall not give you a link to read about it because I do not wish for you to be poisoned by manipulative tripe. Mister Mickey Moore is so biased that he makes you feel compassion for that fundamentalist victory thief. The best part of the movie was when I drank the beers. The worst part was when it was not over.

I have recently gotten back in contact with an old web friend (no, not Spiderman) but John, an all-kicking all-punching bag of computer science frenzy. Check out his blog, particularly his links to "beautiful people". There are some fantastic blogs listed there for your perusal and enjoyment. Be there or be triangular. (It is no longer hip to be square.)

Speaking of hips, and while we are roaming the streets of my litter-filled past, allow me inform you of a tasty truth: I have had surgery on my right hip twice. As a result, it aches whenever bad weather is coming. It is aching right now. Oh wise oracle hip, so you reckon it is going to rain? WELL NO SHIT SHERLOCK. Bad weather is coming?? Thanks for that. Because it's not like bad weather plonked itself down on the proverbial Irish living room sofa this season and has been farting and spitting profusely for quite a while now or anything. Where was my hip's jibber-jabber pre the Asia disaster? Probably off warming itself by the radiator in a nice pair of corduroy trousers under the desk where I study. Stupid hip *mutter mutter*.

There is something in my life right now that is causing me and my housemates a great deal of discomfort. Since approximately the end of October this year, I have ceased to sleep at night. Or during the day. The short of it: I'm not sleeping. I have not yet reached zombie status. I have not yet formed for myself an alter ego that makes soap out of the fat of rich ladies' asses. I have not begun a club that meets in basements around the city where businessmen "furdle one another with thumps" (thanks embee) and "lamp" each other rotten (thanks Dave) with bared fists and midriffs exposed for all and sundry to gawp at. No, I am not there yet. But perhaps I am in a worse place, for I have taken up...knitting. Yes, it is true, and I refuse to be as ashamed of this as I ought to be. I have begun a project: a wide and long blue scarf which I will cheaply thrust upon an unlucky friend come next birthday.

I knit, clicking my needles loudly at ungodly hours of the night (when even the Lord Himself has hit the sack). I also listen to Spin FM's delightful through the night dance music, and that is where my housemates' discomfort comes in. WELL POOR THEM. Boo hoo, look at me, I can sleep ten hours a night no problem, turn off your radio you bitch, boo hoo. Etc. etc. Their giving out would drive you demented.

If you are the praying type, pray for me tomorrow between 15.30 and 16.30 while I battle through an obscure Modernism examination. If I fail, I will know that it is because of your lack of faith, you disappointing children. If you are not the praying type, please post me a tenner.

neuro-praxis -- Lolloping To Bed With An Ache In Her Head

Posted by neuro-praxis on January 10, 2005 01:11 AM, in the category Limb Infections