Academic subcultures = pure annoyance

I haven’t been updating this blog, and you might think I have abandoned it. I haven’t; it’s just that the workload of late has been rather problematic. Technically, it shouldn’t be a lot. I have two essays of two thousand words each, and a report of a thousand words. I can type an average of one thousand words per hour, and I do that every morning. The problem is the style. Officially, I hate academic subcultures and their specific writing styles. I hate them so much that I never wish to use them again. Why is it no possible to write something which is sensible, and at the same time, entertaining? I’m more Monty Python than Shakespeare, and even Shakespeare’s language is more colourful than the dry-as-firewood academic style which I’m being forced to use. I want to use slang, contractions, perhaps add a ’savvy’ every now and then. It’s all good fun, and I’m perfectly understandable. Why else would people online read my stuff? It’s not sophisticated at all; I find joy in writing about blowing up cathedrals in Rome. That is not high class literature. Indeed, some would say it isn’t literature at all; basically, it’s entertaining nonsense.

I have a week before the first of my essays and my psychological report are due in. I’m living day by day, not thinking about the future because I don’t want to consider the fact that I might not be able to produce my essay and report in time. I’m also lamenting the fact that I have to be stuck indoors writing boring stuff when I can be outside, just watching the world go by, and perhaps writing interesting stuff. There are a lot of ideas in my head. The more work I have, the more plotbunnies generate. They hop around inside my mind, nagging me until I put them down on a page, whether it is a blank word document or a piece of paper. Preferably a blank word document; I am fond of the backspace key.

Spring has come at last, but this is when the workload is getting most intense. After my essays, I have exams, and then perhaps I’m free. But until then, I am a slave to academia. Why do I even bother? I don’t particularly care for qualifications. As long as I get into my courses next year, I’m good with it. I have no desire to shine or be lifted above my peers because of my academic achievements. To shine because I write fun stuff is a good thing though; I want to be known as someone who can waffle on about absolutely nothing and still be entertaining.

I have typed a good deal, and all this time, I could have been and should have been working on my essay, but I am just so tired, and I have had enough of it. Perhaps this afternoon at home, but I feel no inclination to open my books, not that I have ever felt the inclination to open academic books. As predicted, novels are an entirely different matter. I have Sense and Sensibility lying beside my pillow at home. I’m actually reading Jane Austen, and to people who know me, the fact that I am reading classic romances is a sign that I’m really tired and sick of everything, and need a change. Perhaps a bout of writing about blowing up cathedrals might cure me.

A Random Bout of Typing.

I’m feeling rather good about myself at the moment. I was not rushing around trying to get everything done this morning, and I wrote a decent amount, so I’m pretty proud of myself, actually, since in the mornings, I’m generally not motivated to do anything. I also finished one essay in the weekend, so that might contribute to my confidence this morning, since I have almost three weeks to work on my other one.

I’m waiting for the university printer to work at the moment. It’s still early, so the room is relatively empty. There are still free computers. Later in the day, it will be very full. I have so many papers in my backpack that it is not funny. I’ll have to sort them out and file them tonight, or else I’ll lose track of everything and I’ll never be able to locate my notes. It takes so much energy to simply make myself do the work though. I’d much rather write about something, as long as it is prose and not something argumentative. Now, that takes far too much energy.

The concrete outside is dark with water. The branches of the trees are skeletal in the pale grey winter light; they are naked, save for a few brown withered leaves still clinging onto them. Very few people are out and about on this cold dreary mrning. I can see two people sitting on a bench, talking and smoking. Well, at least one of them is talking. The other just sits there, staring in front of her as if she is simply part of the landscape.

Waves of hot hair waft from the heater beside me. It gets a bit irritating, actually, but I chose the seat because it was close to the window and because the computer was already on, so I wouldn’t have to wait for it to start up. There is a text that I have to read for this afternoon’s tutorial, right after my class on Islamic history. I don’t feel like reading it, but I know I have to, or else I won’t be able to contribute. However, the remnants of the weekend still stain my mind. I want to make a video for YouTube, or just simply type and let the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard sooth me. It’s almost like meditating. Whenever I just let myself go and simply write or type, it’s like I’ve gone into a trance. Nothing really seems to matter except the sound of the keyboard and the words of the screen, or, if I’m writing with pen and paper, the scratch of the pen, the scribbles, and the texture of the paper.

My eyelids feel heavy, as if I am about to fall asleep again. It must be the warmth of the room, and my relaxed state, because if it was a bit colder, I would be wide awake. Temperature is so important to levels of concentration. I like it a little bit cooler, but everyone else seems to be fine in the warmth. Perhaps I’m used to a colder temperature indoors, since at my place, we hardly ever use heaters, prefering to wear coats indoors.

Perhaps I should stop typing now. My fingers on the keyboard feel good, but the sound and the rhythm are making me sleepy.

Good intentions amount to nothing.

You know, I had every intention of reading my history textbooks and going over my notes today. Knowing me, it didn’t happen. I was too busy reading and replying to my reviews (that was during late morning and early afternoon), and then once again, I’m stuck to the computer screen. It’s just that the internet is so interesting, and I have so many things I can do online, compared with the fairly limited amount of activities I can do offline. But I will do what I’m meant to do tomorrow (who are you kidding, Tel?).

I launched my new story yesterday. These days, my life seems to revolve around my fanfiction and my online social life. My parents keep on telling me that I need to go out more, but real people seem so mundane. I hardly ever find anyone who can talk about the weird things which I’m interested in. My best friend is all the way over in the North Island, so I can’t really talk to her, except through instant messaging. Honestly, the phone bills cost more than if I want to call somewhere far away like Alaska.

There’s this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that I should concentrate on my studies, but where is the fun in that? All right, studying gets you money –my scholarships tell me that much– but it’s so boring. All you do is sit there and stare at the page and hope that your sponge-like brain can absorb something and retain it. Let’s face it, most water goes out of the sponge after you take it out of the water. At least my exam marks from last semester weren’t too bad. I didn’t fail anything, so I’m slightly relieved.

All right, I’m just rambling and being boring here, and I haven’t even written in my journal. I’ll go off and do that now. Oh, and I’m feeling a bit hungry. Maybe it’s time to rob the pantry.

Just life, really.

Well, I actually managed to get up in the morning today, and then wasted all the time online. Honestly, I feel as if I am addicted to the internet. The first thing I do when I get up is go on the computer and see who’s online. It’s sad, actually. A lot of time should actually be spent writing. However, I have just finished a story, and I expect to feel melancholic for a while yet. It just feels like that another stage of my life is over, and I’ll never experience the joy of writing that particular story again.

I did read a book, and it was a really funny one too; a chick-lit novel. I’ve become quite fond of those at the moment. Maybe it’s the need to read something silly and lighthearted after reading all those serious history books. My friend’s got his forum up and running, and people are posting things there. It’s quite exciting, and I’ve stolen some ideas from the other forum .

Anyway, I did a paper dump again (to those of you who don’t know, a paper dump is when I dump all my drafts because I’ve finished typing them up. It amounts to quite a lot of paper per week). My desk now looks slightly tidier, but I’ve yet to prepare for the return to my studies. Exam grades come out on Tuesday, and I hate waiting for results. It’s almost worse than doing the exam itself.

This week, I should actually be working on the beginning of the next instalment of my fanfiction series. I’ve got the minor details sorted out, finally. What amazed me was how long it took to find a proper name for a very minor character, and the right Roman emperor. Since it’s only the first week of semester, I don’t expect too much work, so it’ll be quite good for launching the sequel (and even if it was a busy week, I would launch the sequel anyway. I made a promise).

Nothing exciting has happened in my life lately. I’ve even neglected journal writing *gasp*. Once the semester starts, there will be more things to talk about.

An unusual day, to say the least

Well, I’m having a weird day. I don’t know if it’s bad or not. Firstly, I received a review which I did not expect. It was not the content which surprised me, but the sender, who is enemies with one of my online friends. I don’t want to fall into the trap of ‘the enemy of my friend is my enemy’ because I want to be able to judge for myself. However, since it’s online, and people have alter-egos, it’s really hard to tell.

My calf muscles are aching because I exercised too much yesterday. I was stupid, because there wasn’t enough hot water, and I knew that if I got myself hot enough, I wouldn’t fear the cold so hence, I did a heck of a lot of exercise. I guess it’s a reminder to exercise regularly, and not binge at certain periods.

And I studied. Actually studied. It is so unrealistic that I can’t really believe it myself. Okay, so I was also eating lunch while I was studying. But I did take notes, and I’ve almost finished notes on the whole subject of Papal power during the Middle Ages, well finished as much as I need to know for the exams. Then there’s the Crusades, and I’m going to do all of the first three. And then I’ve got to do the Normans; that’s one topic I don’t know well.

So yeah, in between studying, slacking, writing and sleeping, I don’t really have much time left over for exercise. And no, slacking is not something which I can avoid doing. It’s an intrinsic part of being me.