Must work...

Written yesterday.

This is a kind of combination email / blog post. I am so knackered today, it's awful. It's that horrible, misty kind of tiredness when you have so much to do, and you want to do it, and yet you can't. What I need, above all else, is sleep. I can't help feeling that if I had got home early, as planned, and had a nap, I might feel more inclined. What I do feel like doing now is curling up with Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (which arrived 2 days ago - at last!), and then sleeping at about 11. That would mean having no dinner, but that might not be such a bad thing, seeing as how my stomach is distinctly paunchier than it was (and I have been noticing it, big-time).

I need to say something here, because this is my blog. I regret buying those cropped cardigans off ASOS. I do regret it. Everyone telling me they don't like them doesn't help. They don't always look so bad, but they're too big, and they just make me look fat and lumpy-breasted, rather than sculpting my chest the way Kirsten's do (unless she just has the one? I don't know...). It doesn't help that the one I wear the most is mustard yellow - and of course, light colours make you look bigger. I generally try to avoid wearing anything very light on top - 'pale' is always a disaster - but sometimes it's not possible! That colour is great, and I've had no luck finding any other cardis in that shade. So I'm stuck with it for now. The dark brown one, though boring, at least has the advantage of looking smaller because it's dark. I'm not a huge fan of my uber-pale pink cardigan either but again, it's one of those 'go-with-everything' colours and I'm pretty limited out here in -----.

God, I can't believe I've just moaned extensively about cardigans. Still, we all need to vent a little, and that's something I can feel 'spafe' about. Spatially safe - which is kind of retarded, because I mean I feel safe moaning about it because it's an issue can put aside for a long time. That therefore makes it about time rather space. Substitute with 'stafe.'

This is what happens when I talk to myself - I rave on about cardigans and space VS time. Christ. OK, I'll try to be constructive, and make a list of what I need to do this week:

1) Email Dr McMorran about my YA plan, asking how it's meant to be done, if there is any kind of regulation for it.

2) Email out surveys to people - my family included - and start collecting, reading and collating the responses people give me. Instead of getting about 10 'French' responses and 10 'English,' I'll just send out as many poss. The more responses I have, the better. Besides, I can, for the time being, advance on the grounds that the first wave of responses seems to be confirming what I think more or less so far. French people are much more incumbent on TV and radio than we are (we tend to be more paper & Internet-oriented). This is interesting because it suggests that we are more visually-oriented than they are, and certainly, the English language is more visual. Chance for cultural commentary here! They are definitely still closer to the Middle Ages and oral culture than we are, especially when you consider how much Middle Ages / Renaissance literature features on literature courses here.

3) Sweep my room

4) Wipe the:

- sink

- kitchen table

- desk

- bathroom sink

5) Mop the floor.

6) Work on my relationship. Fundamentally, nothing has changed about ---- for me. I love him, he loves me, it's beautiful, blah blah blah. I am right now listening to Fugitive Motel by Elbow. I have listened to this and thought of him many a time, but it holds more relevance than ever, seeing as how I am in another country. So here goes:

Oi - you. Yes, YOU. YOU reading this right now. I am thinking about you. The little soft hairs at the nape of your neck (that I have too). Your big, brown, trusting eyes that are fringed with long, long lashes. I would say you've got a dog's eyes, but there's a terrible knowledge in there that a dog's could never have. I look in them, and I am pinned harder than a butterfly on a botanist's wall. It might not have as intense a physical effect as it did, but I still feel love for you when I look at you, and when other things aren't hampering me and making everything harder than it should be. I know I'm still in love with you rather than just loving you - my greatest fear is when I get to the point when it's but the latter. I know because I still want to be your wife. I know because the thought of you standing by and letting me be with another man makes me feel a strange mix of anger and grief, though mostly anger. Why that turn of phrase, though? Because I would never let myself be with anyone else. (I would be severely tempted, were Wylie Times to propose to me, but that's so impossible that we will now forget I just said and laugh instead... ! But seriously - GET IT ON WITH DIZZY, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, YOU'RE SUCH A BEAUTIFUL COUPLE, I CAN'T STAND IT). Anyway, to return from that random tangent, you're still who I run off into the sunset with in my head. This year is testing us big-time, because I'm growing as a person, while you are being put under pressure and restrictions. But I'm just telling you, this is my attempt not to lose sight of what's important: us. We have had many a stupid fight recently, and the distance has been very damaging (among other things).

BIG HUG. I love you. Hurry up and start watching Heroes, so that we can geek out together, and I don't have to turn to A--. In all honesty I don't mind hearing about The Wire, but I get impatient and jealous when you go into raptures, and the temptation to go on Wikipedia and read all the storylines becomes dangerously seductive. I am going to listen to that !!! song later. The Internet here is not working (ha!), so I am going to post this tomorrow sometime, in the afternoon methinks.

And here's a big kiss for you. I really miss you physically. You've seen how much difference your being physically present makes - it's actually even a little dangerous, because I can relax TOO much. I feel so safe, I feel like an adventurer from a fictional world climbing inside the crooked elbow of a sheltered cave, safe but not bored, comfortable without being confined. OMG, this is brilliant, I may yet be able to return to the glorious descriptiveness of my younger days! I will speak to you soon.

Love, to you, and to myself (note to me: you needs to be kidnapped by a loving soul and pampered for days on end, so you can relax, sleep properly and get back on form!)

..... MWAH MWAH MWAH

Whew!

I just looked at my last post and I am so so embarrassed. I can't believe I was that mad at A---! Thankfully, that is all ancient history, now that I'm in France, and everything has changed so much. That was almost a year ago - well, about 5 months short of a year. So much has changed, but I don't need to go into that, because this blog is primarily for me and mines, and I know what happened. I upped sticks to France for my Year Abroad, and though there were as many trials and tribulations as you might expect with that, it's also been a huge learning experience for me. I got a lot closer to people I never thought I'd be friends with - Trish and Tom - and made new friends (Matt, Kirsty, Fahad, Sophie Cameron...). Trish, Matt and Kirsty are leaving - well, Trish went this morning - but it's not the end of the world, and I feel a lot more grown up than I was for dealing with it. I was really sad this morning when it hit me in full that Trish is GONE, PERMANENTLY GONE to Bologna. Mais c'est la vie... and so I have to deal with it. I'm treating the departure of my favourite people to chat to here as a blessing in disguise, because it'll mean I'll get more work done. I'm making slow progress on that front, but progress at all is something to be glad for.

Christ, I am KNACKERED. These 10.30 starts are a gift compared to last semester, but I haven't yet got the hang of sleeping before 1 or 2. Therefore, even a reasonable time like 8.30 comes on like waking death with head aching fuzzily and my eyes prying themselves open as if there's a crowbar at work. It is lovely to wake to sunshine though - yesterday was the first sunny day for some time, as is today, and it makes even the littlest acts of 'going about your day' something infintely more bearable, dare I even say, FUN. I'm very happy because I did a naughty thing which I can't talk about here for fear that S--- will read it. Well OK, it wasn't a NAUGHTY thing, but it was fun, and now I will shut up and say no more.

Comic of the moment: I won't necessarily always have one of these, seeing as I tend to binge on comics, much to my shame, but for now - 100 Bullets. Oh my goodness. This series has far exceeded my expectations of what a comic could be, and yet it does do complete justice to the term 'graphic novel' that is generally applied to all the comics I read. It is, in many ways, the total opposite of my first love in comics, Preacher. It has the sex, the violence and the one-liners, but that is where the similarities end. Where Preacher defined itself by being rude and crude, balanced with a hidden heart of gold - in short, strongly reflecting the main protagonist, Jesse Custer - 100 Bullets is subtle, complex, and extremely... disjointed. I'm not totally happy with that term, since it has quite negative implications. However, what I mean is simply that Brian Azzarello juggles a huge cast of characters, and several storylines simultaneously, without breaking a sweat. Stylistically, it is much more ambitious and ingenious than most comics try to be, I think. I don't mean to insult other books, but where most sell themselves on a new/individual style of, or particularly beautiful, artwork plus good writing - 100 Bullets doesn't.

See, I can't help thinking that this is not just for people who aren't so keen on books, and/or taking a break from films (some of the others give me that impression). This is a consummately literary masterpiece. Take the storyline 'The Crash,' for example. Nothing much happens. Agent Graves meets up with some of The Trust and is made an offer, while a young couple discover a crashed car and a dead man clutching the winning lottery numbers. And yet it turns into a masterfully disturbing look at humanity, with Agent Graves / Javier's dialogue overlapping into the 'crash scenes.' When the couple struggle to choose a course of action - take the money and run? Ease their guilt by paying some to the family of the crash victim? - it is a situation we have all been in, where to help ourselves is to deny another, and what should be an easy choice becomes a guilt-ridden nightmare once our sense of responsibility gets involved. The two scenarios reflect each other - in both cases, an offer of sorts is being made, a huge decision must be taken.

However, it doesn't end there. The very premise of the series is recalled - Graves presenting strangers with 100 untraceable bullets, a picture of someone who has ruined their life and proof of this in the signature attaché case. It is a troubling decision which has huge consequences for everyone who ever has to make it. The niggling question arises once more: just what is Graves up to? Whose side is he really on? And the plot only thickens when you proceed further, to where Graves attempts to stitch up his apparent associate, Mr. Shepherd, by inciting Wylie Times (who is BLATANTLY a former Minuteman, c'mon, I'm not stupid!) to use the magic bullets on him. I realised what was going to happen after reading 'A Crash,' but was still shocked - and delighted to be right - when it did.

Shepherd himself is a gloriously seductive character who makes me think powerfully of Philip Marlowe (Raymond Chandler's uber-famous private eye). I suspect this is deliberate, what with his trench-coat, constant smoking, and wistful hangdog air. Also, if you look here, it lists some of the influences, and surprise surprise, guess who's in there? Shepherd is wonderful because you know nothing about, nobody seems to trust him completely, he is apparently playing for both teams - and yet the man has a downright graceful air of 'don't fuck with me' about him. He's not particularly menacing - not in the way that psycho-hound Lono is - but it's clear he's no rookie either, what with the fact that he's apparently 'on the fence,' and still alive in spite of it. He also becomes more appealing as we start to see him pitted against Graves more and more explicitly. Where Graves seemes to be defined by his ruthless single-mindedness, Shepherd seems to retain some sense of principle, some sense of right and wrong. And apparently he's got feelings for Dizzy, one of my other fave characters! In short, he is the man-in-the-middle, yet the only real 'moral compass' (thanks, A---!)... and apparently a former Minuteman. I look forward to knowing more.

Album of the moment is AIM's Hinterland. This fella is from the U.K (yay!), and he is on that trip-hop shit... but GUESS WHAT? He does it well! I also think that his is one of the few cases where you can legitimately apply that label, being as it is a blend of trippy, electronic and hip-hop elements. So you get insistent basslines, and braggadicio rapping (The Omen, featuring Diamond D) and soulful female vocals with sweepy classical violins. There is also a neat use of weird, slightly distant-sounding samples, such as during my favourite track of the album, Linctus, where a woman in the background croons 'Bay-beh'... or so I think.

Right, well the first 10 tracks are very good, with some utter stand-outs (The Girl Who Fell Through The Ice, Good Disease, The Omen, Linctus and Vipco come to mind here). Then comes the album's first - and thankfully, only - huge mistake. A Twilight Zone. What was he thinking? This could serve as the music to some mobile-phone or insurance advert, and I wouldn't care. The next one, From A Seaside Town, wasn't too memorable either, but the last track, Hinterland is better. I guess he had to get its name from somewhere!

Well, that's about it for today folks. I'll smell ya later (when I've got the time!).