13.02.13- Forgiving Dickens, Dodgy Verses & A Difficult Goodbye

I was going to write yesterday but I felt so sad most of the day I just couldn't bring myself to write anything. Plus working in a freezing cold supermarket with a cold just makes you want to resort to Beechams and bed and a hot mug of tea.
As does being a crazy cat lady.

The sight became so familiar it was both sickening
and endearing

I'm not saying the day was all bad. Yesterday the first lot of exam results came out; these ones being the results from what I found to be the hardest exam of my time in Uni so far. The module, Romanticism, Realism & Revolution, had me working until the early hours most nights in the library. It wasn't pleasant being able to see 02:00 as the time in the corner of the screen whilst being in front of a library computer researching articles and analysing poetry (I may have forgiven Mr Dickens but Wordsworth, you will always be a dick), but you do almost get used to it. It was surprisingly full at that time during exam period, and there was something oddly comforting in having other people around all knocking back coffees and going through the same as you. You get used to the smell of pizza that people were ordering late at night (luckily no one ordered kebab. I still don't get the appeal of kebabs. Why would you want to eat something that sweats and gets shaved and even once prepared just looks like a disembowelled guinea pig? Mate, no amount of mayonnaise is going to save you). And you get used to the sight of foreign people doing spontaneous meditation in between striking their heads with their palms and hyperventilating (I'm totally with them on that, meditation is great; I just didn't have the guts to do it in the library because it mostly just makes me fall asleep and someone might have shaved my eyebrows or set me on fire).

Kebabs: about as appetizing as the
afterbirth of a cow

Before going to collect my results my heart was heavy and I queued in the office, mumbling under my breath, "Pleeease, baby Jesus, please let me get the results I worked so hard for or I'm going to reverse my car into the fence of the Rec car park and howl."



Section A= 72.
Section B= 75.
Average for exam paper= 73.
Natalie's relief= better than relieving your bladder after 3 gallons of Strongbow.

 I breathed a little "thank you" to Baby Jesus (at 2013 years of age, I should probably stop referring to him as "baby", he's getting on a bit now) and made my way back to the car to drive home and get ready for work. It felt nice knowing that my effort had paid off. Just one more set of exam results to collect hopefully at some point this week. I hope they keep me on track for a First.
Today I've been preparing for that presentation on "Sex and the Body" in Dylan Thomas' poetry that I have to give to the class on Monday. Reading it, I wondered, "Am I too prudish for this?" He's a dirty boy. When Dylan wants you to hold his rod, he's not asking you to go angling. Everything becomes phallic. Everything is "stiff". The waves become sexual climaxes. His waves are "blowing" sea-salt in their throats. One critic even substituted the "whack" of "little boys' limbs" for "wank", but I think that's taking it a step too far and he is clearly just being a massive pervert.
Am I too prudish?
...no.
I'm pretty pleased with the amount of work I've done today. And I'm very pleased with how effective Beechams is; one minute I was shivering and rolling around like a bear in labour claiming to be inches from death, yet two Beechams and a two-hour nap later, I was up, dressed and ready to spend hours on my presentation research. I also visited my mum and little brother today.
My brother didn't bother with "hello", just glanced at my bag and asked, "sweeties?" It is always nice to feel appreciated for your company. My mum was full of interesting questions, today's being: "Nat, if I ever get whiskers when I'm old you will pluck them won't you? I don't want to be one of those bearded old ladies."
Mum, when you are old, I promise I will keep the Veet facial strips at hand. Unless you want Gillette  "the best a man can get."

Don't worry Mum; the facial hair situation won't come to this when you're old

Today I also had the unfortunate experience of browsing Valentine's cards. I do so every year with a sick sort of fascination. They are definitely getting worse every year. Today's horrors included:

No.

• A card emblazoned with the claim: "You are my Mr Lover Lover".
• A card which included a badge saying "My Sexy Valentine". Why would you wear that? No you don't look sexy, you just look like the office twat.
• The inevitable "horny devil" card.
• "I'm bananas for you" with a picture of an ape with its tongue hanging out. Why?
• "Hot stuff." With a picture of a chili pepper.
• Several nightmarish rhyming verses which made such a poetic impression on me I can't recall a single one.
• And, lastly, and most horrifyingly, a card with "I'm your biggest fan." And a picture of a fan. 

If you're going to send me any cards this year (hi, Mum) please make sure there is no picture of a fan on the front with "I'm your biggest fan" or we'll never speak again.

The reason yesterday was such a sad day was because I had a phonecall early in the morning from the charity I was volunteering for with the elderly. One of the people I worked with, a lovely old lady whom I've mentioned before had passed away suddenly in hospital yesterday. I'd had such a great bond with her and the news upset me a lot. I know with things like this the role involves keeping a professional distance, but that didn't mean it was any easier. I've not only lost one of my lovely clients but also a good friend. I'm devastated that I couldn't give her the letter I wanted to give her before she went to hospital or have our final visit before I finished my volunteering before exams. It is comforting to know she is at peace, but I wish I'd got to say goodbye.
I will always be thankful for the positive attitude to life she showed me, the things she taught me and every minute I spent with her. She told me that my visits always brightened her day and that she always looked forward to seeing me at our regular time. I hope that in some way, I did help to make a difference in those final few months of her life. 
I'll definitely be going back to volunteer once Uni is finally over. I will never forget the time I spent with her. 
I consider myself very lucky to ever have had the chance to get to know her.