You know who I am. I shed my dread trappings when I finally handed my dissertation in and turned out in my whites to complete the formal process. It really is finished. I've come this far, and I've managed to almost complete this degree course. I will pull through. I will show you that I can do it. Up until this point, I was writing in Georgia, but decided to return to my old faithful standard of Times New Roman. This is a many layered thing. I thought I could change for the next year, but really it was a little close to the bone.
Close to the bone? Ha ha, more on that story later. Turns out this has been quite popular. Or at least, more popular than I thought anyway. The account of my return to halls is the runaway winner for the most readers, followed by my first return to Derby at the end of the second year, with the hate of the Junior Handshakers and my little wish for romance tying third. So far so good. What about the actual time I've spent writing it?
Good to bad to indifferent to absolutely fucking awful. Last year, as we know, was a flat-out disaster. Bankruptcy, suicidal depression and well, you know the drill. Bury Street and Spamming form the head of terrible year, notwithstanding the fact that I barely pass with a 2/2 mark. Oy gevalt. What about this year though?
Much better, on the whole, mainly due to some very important people.
First is the Sempai, my Upperclassman. Without his lifts to choir, constant cynicism, and basically the entirety of this term as far as Dissertation support is concerned, I'd be simply done for. His constant concern is not to be sniffed at in the slightest, and the fact that he was there almost every step of the way (except for those where my insomnia really pulled through), especially as he was there at the printing and proofing stage (haha! Proofing!) at 4am on thursday morning, 12 hours before hand in means the world. That guy is a hero, and is well on his way to sainthood. Having an actual human being to talk to on the way to the Church of St. Peter Mancroft, the one and only place to get Spammed, is nothing short of a Godsend. A Junior Handshaker he may well be, but he knows the score, and that's what's important. Everything I could say that he has done in his favour can only be counted as the little things. And it's those that count. Not forgetting being pressganged into my quartet. Sacrifice is everything in my life, and he gave his time up (although not always without wasting a little bit of ours) when he was so much busier, and coped. He, like I, has a very broken understanding of the term "snowed under".
Let's take a break. What about my heart? The muscle still beats, no problem. The rate's as ludicrously high as ever, but whatever. It's meant to be like that.
Cracked and shattered. The furnace on which I rely to power through is burning away overtime to cope with the strain. I'm piecing it all back up together after I reckon three major breaks, one of which I had to for my own good, and the other two by women I still can't look in the eye without really wishing that things could have been different. However. They are the way they are. I am learning to deal with it. I will get up to speed, thank you.
As for the waltzer? Hm. That was a little silly of my to write like that, but you should have seen what I was preparing before that. I fell good and hard, although I'm out of the crater now, I still feel a twinge. There was this girl, there was that girl, there was the other girl. You know the drill. Bellyache from a freak who doesn't know what to do. I'll be ok, I'll work it out. Now isn't my time, obviously. SO DEAL WITH IT. Oy.
And what about if I've broken any hearts? Have I? How could I? I'm like a troll. A really cynical troll. Maybe its happened more than I know. If others don't know that I fancy them, then I equally don't know others have a liking for me. It's harsh, but I'm sorry, you know. It's bad enough for me in here. I suppose its good to remember my constant failing, every single day. Suffering builds Endurance, and Endurance builds Character. It's good for be, because the Scripture says so.
Onwards we go.
And what about my flat? Cruising at the speed of procrastination into their degrees, mine is over before theirs has hardly begun. Emma, Emily, Simon, Beth, Alex, Ed, Chris, Usman, Charlie, Lois and Angela; as little as a I see some of them, I will never forget the acceptance and inclusion that they afford to me, because they're brilliant people. Special mention go to my bros (and hos) Joanna and Adam, withtout whom I should surely have quit my path and cried mercilessly over destroying not one but two Nintendo DSs. Ha ha! Hutchings of course has my back as much as I have his. Booze, Chinese Takeaway and Pown.it are usually the order of the day. With the odd Pokemon session thrown in too. But to be honest this is almost as funny as that time that some Schmuck super-heated a plate and left it on the stairs...TOO SOON?
Everyone has contributed to my final year being a year worth doing, study worth committing to, and a dissertation worth completing. My gratitude will never end.
I've mentioned Joanna here before. Points go to whomsoever finds her.
Worth at least a cursory glance is my Pale Comrade, whose blood pressure rivals even mine. There's time yet for his real credit, which you'll duly see.
The point is, I've had a God awful year. I've not given up yet though, and nor do I intend to. Only one man is crazy enough to fight for as many lost causes as I am am, and that just happens to be me. I've drank more booze and ate more curry than I ever have in my whole life, and still somehow have a liver and a digestive system left. I blame J of N wholeheartedly for this brilliant fact. I've managed to pull it back, and keep on a mostly even keel! I even managed to pick up a sycophant. Which doesn't please me greatly.
My Scholarships returned, and I've made great strides, if you'll pardon the pun, with my pedal technique. Hymn playing's still as shit as ever, but I must pick up again. I basically haven't played for 6 weeks almost, so the skill I have managed to retain is very pleasing.
This is my year's mind. I will continue to keep this little corner of chaos in order, most unlike the korner of khaos I live in at the moment, which is simply dreadful. When I go home later today, I'll be wearing my whites and the DGS hoodie, because hell, what other hoodie is appropriate to return to Derby in? The whites of course, reflect my shining trappings.
For now? Tchuss. At the end of the world, I will take my rest. I certainly intend to keep writing. The preponderance of vignettes that are down in the mouth is just how it goes. Keep watching, and I'm sure they'll get better. Eventually.
Tomorrow is another day.
But still, it could be you.
But still, it could be you.
Happy anniversary for the blog Pebblez ... see you in May maybe, otherwise I'll be around if you need a chat or whatever. Hugz :)
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