Evidential Priorities

Today I choose radio 4.

And coffee with skimmed milk.

Today I choose Husserl and an essay to triumph all essays. 

A brisk run. Maybe. Or maybe just some sittups. Just something. 

A phone call to Mum, cause she'll remind me why I'm here.

Husserl wasn't quite sure. I think my Mum has a better idea.

I choose a non-alcohol induced early night and taking off my make up before bed. With Dominos. 

Because being this distraught over Mr Darcy is about as healthy as the amount of Ben n Jerry's I ate last night.

Today I choose In our Time, Continental vs. Analytic Philosophy.

And maybe some dissertation work.

A dissertation on why men and women make decisions the way they do, when made to make decisions together. And if they can stick to their initial beliefs.

If I can stick to my initial beliefs. If I can stick to some form of self respect.  

Because getting a 2.2 isn't worth it.

He's not worth it.

He's not worth it.

He's not worth it.

SOLUTIONS

SOLUTIONS

5pm lashes. Because he didn't care. So nor do I.
Getting completely ratted, because there's only so many times you can look over past photos before going crazy.
I'd like my dreams to go back to non - mental moments. Not a set of scenes of Shakespearean clad actors and actresses mauling each other to pieces, and leave one another in wrecks of ribbons.

I missed you.

I still miss you.

We went out at 6th form, and first year, until you told me you wanted to sleep with other people. Because that's what freshers do.

So I went away and found someone else. He was lovely, beautiful, clever and romantic. Took me to dinner and balls and on holiday. Held my hand and showed me off like the wife he's destined to have. But he wasn't you.

And you invited me to Newcastle and we clicked again and again. And you slipped your fingers in between mine like they'd spent 2 years doing. And I didn't want to let go.

And I hate that the Cathedral that greats me on my way back from your stupid city is just a cold welcome of work. But it's kinder than your words were.

So tonight, I choose wine. And weed. And a fuck load of ice cream.

And then tomorrow, or maybe next week, I'll get back on the horse. But right now, I feel about as big as the length of time you reminded me you'd spent deliberating over what I'd told you. That I still wanted you, after 2 years. 5 fucking minutes.

So tonight, I'm dwelling. And taking a glass of milk to bed.

Dogs to Men

Today, my house mate's dog came to say hello, with her Mum, Dad and brother. We played the 'lets go through Ms Durham's dirty laundry and pull out her pants' game, the 'terrify the house mate with a phobia of dogs' game, and finally the 'deposit a swamp in the kitchen' game. BUT it was AMAZING. I miss my dogs like an idiot misses the point. Walked past the Pump House and resisted the afternoon tea temptation, just.

And now, watching Marley and Me, I'm a sobbing mess. Student houses, with the standard no-pets policy is a tragic situation. There's a big, empty space next to me on the sofa that should be occupied by my chocolate lab, formally Humphrey. I want to wake up to my dogs demanding their breakfast and piling onto the sofa with a steaming cup of tea in hand, that will inevitably end up all over my dressing gown. Naughty jumping up and wet noses on grinning cheeks.

If the men in Durham were anything like dogs, things would be ten times simpler. Lackadaisical. Laddy. Lack bloody luster. Same story. Night in Lloyds, numbers swapped and Facebook stalked. Text text text. Message Message Message... and then what? It's just a bit bleh. I'm aware this is a MASSIVE generalisation, and definitely one of a single girl that's having a bit of a rubbish run. But just once, I'd quite like two front paws on my shoulders, threatening to sweep me off my feet. Filthy and gorgeous.

Not such a dogs life.

Cold filled and bluesy bills

My house mate's rocking her leather shorts today and making pineapple upside down cake. It's 2 degrees, and I'm wearing my red blanket like a toga. Looking not so fine, feeling not so fresh. 

Today tastes like balsamic vinegar. Mainly because it's the only thing with any form of flavour that's managing to penetrate my furry tongue. Few splashes on some spinach and ricotta tortellini with salad from Dunelm (Durham's student shop - the only place that sells vegetarian Haribo - I'm not a veggie, they're just awesome).

I didn't talk in my 9am seminar - my tutor probably thinks I'm dim now, little does she know I was saving her from a spluttered through explanation of why Husserl got himself into a bit of a jam before he even started. But I digress. 

I just got rejected from AT Kearney. No biggy. Had a telephone interview yesterday with Baillie Gifford. Slightly concerned by their recruitment company, Sanctuary Search. I answered. I already blew off the recruiting guy because they told me they'd call "sometime next week" in an email I received last Friday. They had called the night before, and I'd been in the pub having dinner. "I can't talk right now, I'm in the pub-" It was 6.30, I was having dinner, not getting smashed - probably should have mentioned that.

"Baillie Gifford encourages a culture of debate. What in the news interests you, and what are your views on the topic?" I plunged into an in depth (albeit nasally) analysis of the Dodd-Frank legislation, two American politicians on a plight for more votes - extending their whimsical act of 5320 PAGES, with 400 new regulations that financial institutions the world over must pay attention to. "It's crazy. And the ridiculous thing is, no one will give it any notice until something goes wrong. Don't you think?" The interviewers response? "umm... that's great. We'll be in touch." Sigh. More Q and A about asset management and why it's perfect for a student like me. Hard worker//driven//motivated//insightful//brilliant//insertcatchwordhere. Hire me, you want me, THIS IS WHY YOU NEED ME. 

Finally; "Baillie Gifford is first and foremost a Scottish firm, based in Edinburgh. "Why do you want to work in  Edinburgh?" Asked Sam. "I love Scotland, I can really see myself there in the future. The career opportunity is brilliant, and I feel like Baillie Gifford is an excellent place to start a career."

I've never been to Scotland.

September solace

This is the first nostalgic off load post that comes compulsory to the posts and moans often associated with a stereotypical blogger. 

My draws are full of diary entries and scribbles and silly things.  This blog is for those scribbles. A coherent  documented display of the mind fuckiness that comes too easily into the mind of someone that frankly knows how to get lost in her own head all too well. Why put it all online? Someone might relate. A couple might agree. Lots of people might disagree. Perhaps a stranger will tell me where I'm going wrong and maybe it might help a friend realise how normal they may in fact be. 

I am a Durham student. I live in an intense bubble, an unavoidable pressure cooker of chaos and craziness. It's a hot and heavy place. When it rains, it pours. I love it, and I hate it. It's not home, but it's a best friend... that will hang you out to dry if you mess up.

So, this is it.

Things that make me smile when I'm pissed about spilled milk. Or a house mate's stolen mine.

A bit of how to survive.

A bit of how not to fall.

Ideas and annoyances that make me want to staple things to the heads of the ignorant. And no doubt insights that will make people want to staple things to my own.

But it's all just words and free flow jimblejamblejumble. Object. Agree. It's an online archive of mental cognition.

I have three diaries.

1. day to day. Seminars and weeks and meetings and bleugh. I'll keep this to a minimum.
2. food and exercise. Yes I have one of those. Judge away.
3. dreams. This one lives by my bed and i fill it in straight away. I'll try get some up.

And as for WHO I am - I wouldn't disclose my mentalness if the web knew that, and it certainly wouldn't be free flow posts. So no questions bitte.

Enjoy