February 17th, 2009


Not Rhyming

Sorry about that last night. I'm feeling better now, but I'd still like to type it out at some point, probably between my doctor's appointment and the weird GDR class that's taking place on this theoretically empty week. I suppose it's nice having things to go to, since it should stop me sitting and thinking and driving myself crazy by grabbing buried feelings, current feelings, and dancing a twisted waltz without the orchestra of reason getting much airtime.

Although my Midlands poem got ignored. It wasn't good enough anyway, I should have spent more time on it. And made it rhyme. There was a time I believed a poem wasn't a poem unless it rhymed, and I spent hours on hours on some homeworks ensuring that they did. I loved doing poetry at school and I was a little upset when we stopped writing them and just analysed them instead. I find it darkly amusing my crazy poem is actually a lot better. When read aloud. So much of my poetry works best read aloud. I wonder why that is? I'd like to think it's partly in the telling, and yet...

Although I do feel again that my poetry isn't that great.

Laura came round and made me stew! Which is lovelytasty. It was a good evening, Laura is a sweetheart, and it was very useful to just let feelings out (at a different person's lap this time). I worked out the two, possibly three, things that together were leaving me feeling so all-over-the-place. I am afraid of sounding like a bit of a broken record when I talk about some of them though. Generally, I'm very succeptable to paranoid fears. That's the main thing. They never seem paranoid when I worry about them though.

I'll be less cryptic later. Right now, I am in my new pyjamas. Or the bottoms at least, since it's too cold to wear the top. They are wonderful. Not quite wonderful enough for me to wear them onto campus, mind.

I don't know if this entry is going anywhere. I probably should, though.

Instrumental Interlude

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a verdict. The doctor got to me to do a few deep breaths, which caused me to cough right on cue, and I have bronchitis. Which means amy_k called it. Not that there was any kind of competition, but it does explain why this cough hasn't been going anywhere despite flu coming and going on top of it. I have a prescription for some antibiotics, but I didn't go and get it today because I also had an actual lesson (in Reading Week, due to postponements from the snow days) and afterwards I was hungry and it's dark and cold outside.

On an utterly different note, one of the Shadowboxers (who I think is on LJ) mentioned possibly sending me an ukelele for my birthday. This excites me and fills me with thankfulness. I don't believe I'll be particularly good at playing it, but I do want to play an instrument again. I've never quite dropped the dream of getting a keyboard once this chaotic year is over and learning to play it, even if I'll never be any good. Or perhaps a metallophone, those giant glockenspiels that dong instead of ding. I mention the latter because I frequently chose it as my instrument when we had Music lessons waay back and I loved its sound and I was told one day I played it perfectly with correct rhythm and it made my week.

I wish I had learnt to play an instrument. I have only myself to blame, really, since my parents were pretty keen, but I kept refusing for some reason I can't understand. I really don't get myself back then in the slightest. Later on, I adopted the position that because I was terrible at doing most hand-based activities (hello dyspraxia), I would never be any good anyway so there wasn't a point. But I really love music and especially after going to the open mic night and seeing these cool guitar guys and girls, I really would like to be able to play things myself, even if I'd never be good enough to make anything out of it. So I'd start with a ukelele, of all things, and see if I can do anything with that.

For the meantime, though, my creativity is still poem-based. Rather than actual uni-work based. I am so out of practice. You should not do what I'm doing in final year if you can help it, trust me, even with its all its beautiful highs.

And to end with, since I've not posted enough of them these past few days, a poem! But this one is designed to be read out loud, since people at Writers' Circle keep telling me my poems thrive on their telling. I call this poem Collapse )