Taliban hipsters?

+



"But then they marched down the streets like soldiers, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who are in charge of me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to lead, mad to talk, made to be saved, desirous of everything according to Allah's will, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like the homes of infidels, exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle of the chaos you see the blue figure of a burqa'd woman running out of the street and everybody goes 'Ahhh!'"

- On the Road to Kabul

Joan of Arc rules Northeast!

Anyway! Uni is turning out to be quite a lot of fun, despite my dramatic posturing over the summer. Detective Fiction is so-so; English Place Names is a project and a half and absolutely fascinating (and taught by a punk with a multi-tone blue mohawk with a sense of humour); and Cognitive Poetics fun, if hard work.


Of course I am still convinced that I will never use my degree as anything other than a degree, but I am at least enjoying it for its own sake now.

Ideas for falling: why don't you just hold on?

You know what I was saying about my most grumpy mood? I think I might have achieved it. It is proving harder to shake off than I had imagined, too.

I am so angry. It is mostly I think hurt and confusion but I don't cope very well with these things so I am pretending it is anger.

I am just saying, I would have appreciated a warning. I probably would not have done anything differently but at least I would not have then felt like a petulant drama queen and I would not be now sitting here trying to work out how this is my fault because I cannot for the life of me accept that, actually, it is not.

When a 2006 diary is a letter of intent.

I am smiling a lot more these days. Rachel's bloke thinks I have mellowed. He did not know me very well to start with so I don't necessarily read too much into this but I like the imagery. I am becoming like cheese, richer and fuller the older I get. Smelling a bit stronger. Maybe you can tolerate less of me in one sitting than before. Not to everyone's taste. Able to clear in room in two minutes flat. Etc etc.

These things make me happy.

I have met someone I quite like. This in itself is unusual enough to warrant some sort of seismic change, I think, but I am too terrified of jinxing things to want to talk about it. I thought it should be recorded for posterity, however.

Term started again today, although I am not sure if I was supposed to be in a lecture or not. I think that is tomorrow's purpose. I am not scared yet. I am going to be circumspect about this year, enjoy it, not take it too seriously. Passionate emotions of one persuasion or the other are beyond me at the moment and that it how I like them. Just out of range.

My room is tidy for the first time in four months. I quite like it like this. There are fairy lights and the bed is made and all the clothes have been hung up. I have a desk and a chest of drawers and a bottle of Jack Daniels on the windowsill.

I am keeping a journal again. A real, paper journal. I finished the one my brother gave me while I was on holiday and realised as soon as I was bereft of it that I rely on it quite heavily. It is a satisfyingly different medium to internet blogs. I realise that the very nature of blogs mean they are public and scrutinisable and they must be edited to some degree but I have never liked this, not really, despite my patronage of the form. They are useful for providing humourous information and photos and suchlike, but I have a horror of being too honest and there is always some sort of self-restraint, even in my most grumpy mood. Blogs are the bits of life you think other people will find interesting. My journal is bits of life that I find interesting.

Grotesques and arabesques.

For backstory, please do your homework.

I will be asking questions at the end.

(There was a link to my LJ here, but I would prefer to let things stand as they are.

If that's OK with you.)