Rudbeckia (nerdanelthenerd) wrote,
Rudbeckia
nerdanelthenerd

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I am the boy who can enjoy invisibility

My Italian teacher pronounces "suffix" like "Suffolks". Fact of the day.

Why does The Clique always have to buzz for someone to let them into the flat? They've got their own keys, dammit; surely it doesn't take that much effort to pluck them from those undersized Hello Kitty bags of theirs. It's as though an action as simple as opening a door cannot be completed without some sort of social contact. This usually takes the form of a vapid, feathery "hihowareyou?" as they swan past, out of sight before the doorperson can articulate an "um...fine..?" I'm old-fashioned, and only say "how are you?" when I have the time and compassion to listen to an answer. Since when-the-fuck was "how are you?" an automatic rhetorical appendage of "hi"? Since women could talk, probably. *inverted sexism*

Reading week next week! I should probably order some DVDs in preparation for that. I'm thinking Seinfeld. Suggestions welcome.

There won't be much studying to do, you see. Academically, I feel like I'm being...retarded? Hah. Held back, I mean. The workload is pisstakingly easy and light. I'm hoping that this is just a soft-hearted "early days" tactic. For the first time in my life, my limbs are becoming more muscular than my mind. (Other firsts: having my hair straightened, phoning a customer service helpline.)

I feel like such a failure. I can't conduct the most mundane tasks without putting a spin of gentle, lopsided incompetence on them. Tying my shoelaces? Quadruple knots and plaits. Looking for something in my bag? Receipts flutter to the floor. Bending down to pick them up? Knocking over an expensive display. Making small talk? I end up talking about my obsession with buses. Closing the door of a taxi? "It's the big yellow handle." "Huh? I wouldn't say that was particularly big as handles go." "Just pull the fuckin' handle, hen." Making friends? Not really. Walking home? An almost balletic fall into a puddle of mud. Walking home in the rain? It doesn't rain on me. It rains at me. In my face.

Otherwise okay, apart from the fact that about ten minutes ago, I downed about half a litre of the bottled water that was on my desk before realising that it had a worrying "week-old 'n' sulphurous" smell. So I guess this is goodbye.
Tags: hating uni, insecurity
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