There is no rain running down my window. It would have been such a great cliché to start my text with. There is no depressing music playing in the background. Yet another chance for a stereotypical beginning vanishes with that sentence. It’s been no long day, it has actually been quite short. The next days might be longer. If I finally get to that big workload that lies waiting on my desk. Right here, beside my computer. Well, no, actually it doesn’t. But such a statement always sounds great, doesn’t it? I’ve got a lot of essays to write, but I haven’t done any research yet, so there’s nothing lying on my desk. Except for the tons of books which I’ll probably never read.
I’m tired. Physically. Mentally. I’m tired of sitting in front of this screen every day, waiting for someone to come online and talk. It’s sad. There’s no life at university, no reason to stay there when the course is over. The cafeteria is miserable, as one of the teachers put it a couple of days ago. I’m tired of complaining about that institution. The building. I could enumerate some positive aspects. But it’s to hard thinking about it and I’ll probably be stuck with one or two things.
I’m uninspired. There still is no rain running down my window. There’s slower music playing in the background now. Jann Arden. Fits better than My Chemical Romance which just played. I think I’ll have to reorganise my late-night playlist.
I’ve been working on “The Regulars” short-story. I guess it will become a long short-story. I typed five pages up until now, and I’m by far not finished yet. “I’m by far not finished”… that sounds a bit weird. Please overlook it. It’s 4 o’clock in the morning.
Why am I still sitting here if I’m that tired? Good question! I guess my mental tiredness is greater than my physical one. At least it is aching a whole lot more. And preventing me from any sleep that either way would result in another nightmare. Then I would wake up and feel as tired as before. Can’t remember the last time I woke up and felt fit.
“Come feed the rain” – ah, at least for Poets of the Fall it’s raining now. I would be counting down the days to get out of this country, but I’m too lazy to calculate how many days are left. A whole week of partying. That’s the first thing I’ll do when at university. That’s what the guys in the UK apparently do to welcome the freshers. And a big foam party at the end of the week. Better than on the Luxemburgish university. Here I got a week of weird activities: I got shot in a modern version of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, I had to host a fashion show and together with a friend wrote a presentation in ten minutes – which got chosen as the best one by the class. At least, I don’t feel nervous at all anymore when I stand in front of the class ever since. And most of it was fun.
Trespassers WIlliam. Thank God (if anything like that exists), my playlist isn’t as bad as I feared. But I guess even if (s)he existed, there’d be no need for thanks. (S)he’s not the one who chose the songs. Well done Thierry, you got a great taste in music.
I’m tired. My eyes keep closing themselves and I can’t do anything against it. My left hand hurts. I could scream. Yes, it really does hurt.
To who am I talking? The crazy guy who sat in the bus last Tuesday who kept talking to himself? Well, he didn’t talk, he mumbled. And he sang. Or at least he tried. He paused every time the bus stopped at a red light. Strange people are dwelling in this unholy place.
I got an e-mail from one of my professors. An analysis of a poem I had to write for his course Practical Approaches to Poetry. It’s comforting to know my writings aren’t that bad. I’m looking forward to that collection of poems which we’re going to write as a class. He said he’d willingly help us and even write the foreword. Which I find pretty cool. :)
I’m tired. I’m too lazy to make coffee. I guess I’ll just make some Earl Grey. Captain Picard’s favourite. If it wasn’t for watching ST: TNG and seeing him drink it, I probably would never have come across that tea. The tea’s in an old box I bought at the English Shop before it went bankrupt. Those were the days. Remember Irn Bru? It’s a Scottish drink so I hope they sell it in Wales…
This is a loopy geek, reporting live out of his bedroom. And now back to… whoever, wherever. Really, it doesn’t matter.