(no subject)

Ah, shoot. It's, like, quarter to two in the morning and I'm at the learning center and don't want to go home because it's cold out there, like, really, really cold. If only I didn't need to sleep so much before I have to get up again at six fifteen, which is, incidentally, four and a half hours away. What to do, what to do?

I already tried reading some shiny new timbertrick, but oh. the general issue remains the same.

(D'you think they'd mind if I slept in the bathroom here?)

(Adventures.)

(no subject)

now that the other half of the phone bill of Doom has hit: Ach! this economical ineptitude is finally coming to bite.me.in.the.ass like I've been expecting it might. I have 5.67 € on my account, 1.85 € in my wallet, 0.80 € worth of credit loaded on my student ID, and thirteen days to go (but fortunately no more urgent bills to pay) before there will be more. I also have enough empty bottles stored up to pay for one run at the grocery store and a freezer and two cupboards full of food, and a savings account if things get really dire, but, dude. Really, now.

Actual money issues take away my poetic street-cred, baby.

Aaannd in other news. You know what I love about crushing two-hour-long foot cramps? The way they know to appear precisely when you most desperately need to sleep. No, wait, I'm confusing that part with SOMETHING ELSE. Still, while I sat around holding up my toes last night, I tried (in the general spirit of continuing the reduction of Austen's novels to nothing but cliff notes for bodice-ripping romance) to figure out a sparkly!casting for Emma. The permutations were many, and these two conclusions were arrived at:

1: The thing about Emma, in this sort of a context, is that when you get down to it, there's a vague vibe of some form of sexual attraction to be extrapolated from every possible relationship between any two characters, save Frank Churchill/Martin's cow (though if that's your particular thing, I'm not here to judge).

2: That, since I've clearly turned into the Draco/Harry shipper of the Austendom or similar, it takes special effort to remind me (every five minutes or so) of the fact that most people do, in fact, not consider Emma/Harriet the primary pairing of the story.

And then it was 5:30 in the morning and I laughed for five minutes straight at my astonishingly brilliant joke of Harriet = JC when Martin = JC and decided to work out a sparkly!casting for Mansfield Park while I was at it. And then I stabbed myself in the eye with my pen and died.

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Post Script: And yet, curiously, despite all appearances to the contrary, etc., I'm actually not much of a ditz by nature - in a work-type environment, I'm just as capable of being grown-up, efficient, organized and practical as the next girl, and occasionally (hubris!) more. It's just my own life I can't handle in the least. Finances, and studies, and time-management, and personal relationships, and house-keeping. And the playing the part of myself.

Post Post Script: But I did lose one half of my favouritest ever pair of mittens at the uni today.

Post Post Post Script: You can try to resist! But you know you can't fight the moonlight! You can't fight it! The night is gonna get to you!

P.P.P.P.S. The smile on your face lets me know that you need me.

P.P.P.P.P.S. Hurrah! The wilderness years are over. These people's taste in music is even worse than mine, but the phone company is refunding the mis-billed 26 €. No need to starve give up cigarettes after all!