I appear to have been brow beaten into fancying Ronnie O'Sullivan (the snooker player). He looks like a serial killer. I would. As long as he didn't speak. Which would add slightly to the serial killer impression. Oh dear.

I have spent the last 90 minutes having a debate on which famous person I think is most likely to turn out to be a serial killer. (Apart from John Hassall) I went for Paul Bettany or Damian Lewis...both of whom I would sleep with without a drop of a hat. I worry about my pysche.

Hello internets, how are you?

My life is a disaster of my own making.

Also, I haven't been outside since Sunday and I haven't left my room in about two days. I am starting to think I may go mad. That or get hypoxia from the lack of air.

I hate the fact that Oxford term were 8 weeks and this term is 17 weeks, it is making me very poor and means I can't go home and work. I did run off home for a while, but you know, have to face the music sometime, so I dragged myself back.

Am currently trying to trick myself that screen light is like sunlight and so will contain vitamin D and I won't get rickets and trying to find articles to support this (plants grow in artificial light! Sadly, there is no evidence for this (but it is scientific fact) being even nearly the way it works for humans, but I don't feel like my bones are remolding under my body weight...yet.

May be getting over hideous, terrible, impossible crush to a small extent. Which is something.

Read Jane Eyre last week, really wanted to read Wuthering Heights but couldn't find it in the library (I know!) so thought Charlotte may do me as well. No such luck, should have known that being after the crazy she wouldn't be enough. I should have looked for Mill on the Floss instead.

Still not written my SSM, getting desperate now...so spent all of yesterday watching brass eye...

Much love,
the vampyric one.

On the otherhand, at least when I didn't have the internet I didn't find out about things like Cassandra Hernandez being court-martialled basically for her own rape. Fuckers. http://brownfemipower.com/?p=1789.

One of my favourite residents has died. Her name was Edith Lord. I think I loved her, it may have been my job to take care of her, but I think I'd have done it for free. She was so affectionate, she's grab your arm whenever you walked past her chair and just hold it. It was annoying if you were busy because sometimes you had to prise your fingers off, it could be a nice excuse to stop running around for 30 seconds. Other times she'd pull you slowly towards her and place her lips on your forearm, it was slimy and a bit disgusting, but she was giving you a kiss. She liked hugs and kisses and people sitting on the edge of her chair and letting her hold her arm. She never liked people putting pads between her legs. I don't blame her a bit, I think if I hadn't a clue who or where I was, I'd be quite upset at someone putting something between my legs. She also hated people touching her feet, so you couldn't get her to wear socks or slippers for the life of you. She was a character. She's hit me in the face often, and she was strong, she'd grip onto something and you wouldn't be able to get her let go. If you gave her affection she'd tell you 'I love you' or 'you're a nice girl'. She loved chocolate and sweet foods, and chips. She had 'half the sugar bowl' in her tea. She'd shout a lot, but sometimes when you thought she was shouting about something and people would keep asking her in that higher than normal pitch, rhetorical question way you ask the mindless 'what's wrong Edith?', and suddenly I'd realise she was singing, usually hymns, like how great thou art once. She couldn't do lyrics, only half-formed la's, her voice was very deep. When she'd still keep false teeth in, she used to bite, sometimes she did even after she stopped wearing them, it was more like a slobber.
I'd known her 3 and 1/2 years, since I first started working their, she has always been in room 7, it feels weird that she's not. There was a photo of her when she was young on the windowsill of her room. She is sitting sideways at a cafe table, looking at the camera, in it she still had her distinctive nose, but she also had long straight hair, and a fringe. She is smiling, and she looks intelligent, and good humoured and, if not pretty, stylish, the smile and the sparkle in her eyes made me think she was playful, and perhaps a little cheeky, 'trouble', when she was younger. I never really had a conversation with her, she couldn't really talk, she never really had her mind. I shall miss her. I haven't cried. It's sort of an inside sadness, a non-sad sorrow, quiet, tucked away, kept with the knowledge that she had a long life, that I think she was the type of person who would have made the most of it, and that in many years time I will look back, as I have today, and smile as I remember Edith Lord.

Note to self, must stop irrationally hating(bit of a strong word, more like getting irritated with)  and thus ignoring the half of the people I know in real life and using the time to look at photos of:

-Boys in Bands
-Gael Garcia Bernal
-Random good looking boys in oxford that I barely know but can access the photos of on facebook (ps, why am I not friends with any of these insanely gorgeous boys that are barely existant at new college...oh yeah, because they seem to spend their time with beautiful, rah girls who are probably disgustingly sycophantic...moving on)
-Gael Garcia Bernal

It is not productive, and probably not healthy.
Nevermind.

Also occurred to me over the holidays that I have a messianic complex of some kind. Like when the branches on either side of the path on one of my favourite walks brush against me, plucking at my hair and clothes, I find myself thinking of the bit where He walks through the crowds and a woman touches him and is cured by belief. I hum to myself, as the sun burns down on me, white and gold, purifying me, glorifying and imagine the people fulling of awe, the love radiating out, and the love, the faith in their touch. At the home one of the old ladies needed her feet bathing and washing, then annoiting every morning, and I feel the last supper, fear of the pain and the hate and the uncertainty, all underneath but first this act, with love and humility, and the tenderness given, the attention to detail because it's something you can give. I stop short of actually pretending I am jesus, but I sometimes wonder if I'm being very presumtuous, very sacreligeous. I'm waiting for someone to figure out what I'm doing, and tell me they are shocked.

(I have actually spent years pretending to be Mary, but I get round that by pretending to be a model for some renaissance painting of the Madonna, and I think that's more an outpouring of my maternal urges).

Sigh. I talk such crack sometimes.

My slightly lolarious tribute to thursday night........

http://www.dancesisterdance.com/myvid/index.php?v=176ba0bbeab49

xxxxxxx

Hello. How are we all?

What did I do on my holidays? Fuck all.

Which means now I'm reduced to scowling at my screen and whispering 'I hate you, I hate you' at my essay, whilst trying to desperately think up something to show my supervisor. Not that I'm allowed to show him any of my written work, we must just discuss what I'm writing. Wtf proctors? Most pointless meeting ever. As I tried to explain to my mum yesterday, tutor meetings are for people who want to write high scoring, original, brilliant essays, whereas I want to write a sub-standard, unimaginative piece that paraphrases last work but skims just below plaguarism and gets me a 2.1.

Bloody proctors, what's wrong with plaguarism anyway.

In other news, my housemates, the wives, have locked my room for this term and gone off to america, so I can't actually move into my room until halfway through first week, and am just living out of boxes in another room. They were hoping I'd decide I couldn't be bothered being unable to move in for 2 weeks and would make do with their room. *Insert blasphemous rage here*. Honestly! It's the sense of entitlement behing it all that drives me really insane.

In other news am listening to far too much Patrick Wolf (of that's possible)

Anyway, I'm off to my meeting *fear*.

Oh, and yes, I've heard about the pete and carl, won't bore you with my perspective on it. Though it's a bit like the boy you've been secretly been in love with forever, and thought would never like you back telling you that he does actually, but he's out of the country, and may or may not return. Joy and nerves and a tinge of sadness. And smiling to yourself. But most of all, want, in the pit of your stomach, the yearning to reach out and feel it, experience it. And that fear, that you'll never see it yourslef, opportunity gone and lost. A bit. I realise that's not coherent. So, yes, a lied, that's a bit of my perspective,

LAUREN FOR LOLZIDOL 2007!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Rhian and Suzy aren't lovin the lolz for some reason, or mine and lauren's gilrs aloud videos. I wonder why?


      

One heavily plaguarised (spelling???) and substandard (not to mention incomplete) project sent off. I am now going to bed for the first guilt free sleep I've had in a week.

Btw, you know what my least favourite word/phrase that gets applied to me ever is? More than slut or whore or whatever you want to call women,

"she's anyone's when she's drunk"

hate it, hate it, hate it.

That's all.     

Query: is the word HAT inherently funny, or am I just at that stage of the the game where everything seems riddiculous.

Seriously, I keep writing about amino acid transport by HATs* and dissolving into giggles.

*Heterodimic amino acid transporter btw...

Am clearly a complete fuckwit! Still haven't done my project, have some how lost words somewhere (omfg, where did my words go), haven't a clue what I'm talking about, and am reduced to writing 2-amino-2-norbornane-carboxylic acid when everyone and their mother knows it's BCH just because it will take up more room. Also, haven't slept through night in over a week, as keep staying up and attempting to get something writteh, but don't understand it, so can't and then end up falling asleep through exhaustion and waking up and panicking because I've wasted four hours sleeping. Am tempted to email my supervisor with note saying "am completely lost here" and what I've done so far asking for some more guidelines. Sadly I promised it him by monday, so I'd really like to have more done before sending panicking note.

Wish I was bit smarter, then, I'd understand it.

Anyway. How are all you lot. Do any of you know why drosophila is a good model from human cells...no? Nevermind, eh?

Oh Hey Livejournal, fancy meeting you here!

The make post thing has changed since I was last here, me no like-ee.

I hate my project, I don't care about S2 cells. Am very much enamoured by Jay Brannan at the moment (because this is important info), sadly, I think he is gay...and he lives in American...and acts in independent films which are practically porn (actually is that a sadly point?)

ETA- Oh noes! I am already re-addicted. And I'd been doing so well this last four months...I should have waited till post-finals!