29.04.13- The Last Essay, Hospital Dismissals and Being Too Chilled For Finals

It's hard to get my head around the fact that in just 9 days I will have put down my pen in the exam room one last time. I guess one of the reasons this is so hard to believe is because for once in my life during an exam period I am not stressed in the slightest; I think I've got a laziness induced by the fact that so long as I get good grades for the next 2 essay submissions I'm pretty much in line for a 1st Class Honours, so the exam doesn't carry as much pressure with it as my previous ones.
That and I'm just turning into a lazy good-for-nothing slut.

How my library visits look

For example, in these 9 days I have 3 books to finish and analyse and I am more inclined to prioritise online dress shopping for summer and graduation ball, as well as eBaying hilarious mugs. My favourite is still my Lionel Richie one. Makes my day every time I open the cupboard.

I may or may not just have the coolest
mug in the universe

Usually during this time of year I become the Loch Ness Monster. By that I mean I am completely elusive and very rarely seen, not that I move to Scotland, turn green and live in a lake. This term however, I appear to be going out a lot more than I should, but the fact that I'm not stressed is just such a welcoming change. Today I will be taking all my books to JC's where I don't have to lob books at people's rowdy heads across the library, drink but can instead drink nice tea and find a comfy chair and read, read, read.
Or so I plan to. Chances are I'll bump into a friend, drink coffee and talk about nights out and dresses and men.
Finishing my poetry portfolio last night leaves me with just the accompanying reflective essay which I shall do later as it doesn't take very long; yet it's been such a big part of my life this term I've ended up getting an empty feeling not unlike being dumped. The end of the last Dylan Thomas essay on Friday was even bleaker; I've researched him so much I feel like I've been married to the man.
I had to go to bed and feel sad and watch films.
On Thursday I had some great news. I received a letter finally dismissing me from my hospital appointments for the keeping my weight just about stable enough over the last year. It's been 3 hard years of struggling, and it's still very challenging to accept the way I look sometimes without being ridiculously critical and self-conscious, but it's great to feel like I'm becoming me again and to feel and see positive changes in my mind and body. It's sad that school bullies can push you to that; I'm lucky in that I don't easily give up. None of them are doing anything with their lives now except popping babies like they're making sandwiches.

What a difference 2 and a half years makes.
I like looking like a woman, not a pre-pubescent boy.

Last week saw a welcome return to Flux, the Uni night out, and a better alternative to Sin Savers at the moment. I used to go to Sin religiously, get rained on from a sweaty ceiling every week, get stuck to the floor and smack perverts in the face. It was all good fun. But now the music is terrible, it is full of horny, irritating little first-years who want to hump everything like Jack Russells on heat the vodka just gets worse the more you drink it rather than better. Flux however says it plays alternative and it DOES play only alternative, not feel the need to slip into dubstep. I will never understand dubstep. I've heard the same level of musical talent coming from my microwave.

"HI I'M STUDYING 1ST YEAR BIOLOGY,
WHAT'S YOUR NAME?"

They played Rusted Root's On My Way, the theme from Matilda and I haven't stopped listening to it since. It reminds me of when I was little and wanted to be Matilda and didn't give a shit about anything except worms in the garden and Crayola and Disney films and nagging my mother for a kitten.
I still do the latter but that's not the point.
Thursday also brought with it a second piece of good news-- the winners of the Royal Berkshire Poetry Prize were announced in London on Wednesday and I was lucky enough to have my poem 'Moonflower' commended. I didn't win anything, I'll just have my poetry featured in the pamphlet they'll be publishing, but it's still nice to achieve something. I also have my poetry feature on Thursday which I am more than a bit nervous for, but at the same time looking forward to. I've just got to make sure I don't do what I did the first time I read at The Howl: that is I mustn't take a bottle of cava into the shower with me and get there barely able to stand, let alone read my own writing. I'd like to learn one of my poems off by heart, as I think being able to recite it like that gives it so much more meaning, but that means eye contact with lots of people.

How previous boyfriends
have died

I don't like lots of eye contact with people I don't know. If I fancy you, great, otherwise it's more terrifying than a romantic gaze with a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets or a staring competition with Medusa.
The slightly empty feeling of finishing my last essays has accompanied a slightly empty feeling of being the self-titled Crazy Cat Lady. Especially when I have no cats. It's almost wearing me out and boring me; some nights I can feel quite lonely and miss having someone to converse with late at night.
Sometimes I crave stability where there is a cat-shaped gap. Maybe I need to dress someone up as a cat and have them curl at the end of my bed and make reassuring mewing noises.
On that note I'd better go and get ready to go out for a run in the lovely sunshine to set me up for a hard day of study.
And by hard day of study, I mean drinking coffee and Googling kittens.

Flux: Sin with better music, less sticky floor, randy first-years
and sweaty wall.