You know, I'm conscious of writing a lot of tawdry bullshit over the past year. I mean, seriously I am Mr. Boohoo. Life isn't exactly easy for someone with my somewhat unique combination of talents and disabilities, I sincerely doubt there is anyone quite like me in all the world. Ok, how glib was that? No, I seriously think it. I'm surrounded by indentikit stereotypes, from the 'naive idealist' to 'ignorant bourgeoisie', (Can you guess who? Answers on the back of a postage stamp to the usual address...) with all shades between as well, and who knows, maybe even I represent some sort of hackneyed cliche...the copper bottom bastard?
I've spent far too long being all weepy weepy and depressed, really it's time I reacquainted with the side of me that is nothing but a nasty piece of work. It's always worked in the past! Right? I wonder why I gave in? SILLY BOY. Anyway. I have spent a year trying to survive, and succeeding (but not very well), and a term trying to do well in my work and get a date...column A can receive a healthy tick. Column B can fuck right off. Even at this late stage there are considerations, but you know I can't tell anyway SO THROW IT ALL IN. I've now left Norwich for Derby, and certainly not a moment too soon. In fact, far later than I should have truly desired. As much as Norwich is a fine city, and Derby is the arse hole of the Midlands, I am still far happier away from these Norfolk environs. I have certainly met some wonderful people this term, coincedentally connected to the fact I'm in Halls again (NC15 and NC16, I love you), and HEAVENS ABOVE as many as TWO of the music freshers have worked out how to treat me like an actual human being. I will not desert them, as long as they do not reject me in my old age.
So. Enough about my inability to get laid. Let's complain about something else. I wonder what that could be? Well. Here's a clue. I didn't put 'poor end of the stall' at the head of my page for nothing you know...
The moment your Director looks you in the eye and calls you a lier is not a Hallmark Moment (tm). It is not a moment I wish to repeat, nor a moment I wish on anyone else. Especially when you're not lying. It was some petty squabble about my voice "ringing out" (that's verbatim, folks) after everyone else at the end of a phrase. As ever, a man of my specific abilities will never sit terribly well with such a small set-up of five girls and two tenors; indeed, perhaps I am no longer suited to life at Spamcroft. It's a big step, but perhaps I am at fault. Working on my powers of projection, breath control and forthright pronunciation in such a specific way may very well mean that I am to exit, stage left.
I'm not going to get involved in some sort of tit for tat arguement of whether I'm better than anyone, or that they're better than me, but things have become difficult again. Some people on the line feel similarly about how life at the Church of the Parish of St. Peter Mancroft continues, but none are so foolish to be so vocal, bad-mannered and ill-tempered as I am. Old dogs &c as far as I'm concerned, but there's still hope for the others. I never quite could keep my head down and my mouth shut...
But anyway. Home sweet home. The Tour continues. Now into our festive flavoured ADESTE FIDELES leg, I've been to the pub twice in a row, arranged an intense curry feast, and tomorrow will go and see the new motion picture sensation, TRON LEGACY. The only reason I'm going is for the Daft Punk soundtrack, being an Electrowhore, but upon further investigation, I think that watching Olivia Wilde in an electro-jumpsuit wouldn't go amiss in the slightest, no sir. Christmas is coming, and the Goose is getting fat! I look forward to a raucous and inebriated celebration of the birth of a Nazarene Carpenter and Lord alone knows what's happening on New Year's, but we all know I'll go without any miseltoe joy, and then I shall presently leave for Norwich, at which point IT'S SPAMMING TIME. Oy vey. I've been told that the recent lunar eclipse on the winter solstice was a sign of great change for everyone. I can only hope so. Time to draw the Death card in the Tarot. I'm 21 soon. And I'm nearing the end of my Undergraduate study. Isn't that frightening?
Speaking of frightening, I love that old adage, that goes "Do something that frightens you every day." Well, I leave the house...
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