The end of the year.

Well here we are, at the end of another year. I'm sat here with not much to do, except in the company of a lot of books and video games. You always hope and hope for the work to be over, without actually thinking of what you'll do when it actually is. What is here, however, is snow. Quite a bit of it, perhaps even enough to last for a white christmas? Doubtful, but a nice thought. I mean, I don't even particularly celebrate Christmas, so I don't know what I'm doing wishing for a snowy one. Harking back to some manufactured idyll I suppose, it's all rather Dickensian, except without the crushing poverty.

Bioshock

Well as the title suggests, I've finally gotten around to playing Bioshock properly now all my assignments are handed in. It's really rather good, the storyline is immense and the action perfectly balanced. As a result, I'm quite looking forward to the sequel, just a few months away. Will give me time to have another run through it, not to mention pick up and play assassin's creed 2.

Speaking of assignments, It's a strange feeling to be free of them. There's no longer a little voice in the back of my head telling me to work, work work. It's brilliant timing, then, that I'm now ill. Though it wouldn't have been that nice to have been ill during my assignments, and there's never a good time to be ill, having my leisure time taken up with being weaker than a newly born kitten isn't exactly how I envisaged spending my Christmas break.

French

I'd just like to devote an entire blog entry to saying how utterly ridiculous the French numerical system is once it gets into the nineties. I mean seriously Quatre-vingt-dix-neuf is just vaguely ridiculous.

Essays!

Yes, essays. I'm writing, or supposed to be writing a lot of them at the moment. I did write two, think they were quite good, then put them to the side. But upon closer inspection, they were a bit crap, so after rewriting one over the course of 10 hours, I'm attacking the other one tomorrow before starting on the final two. Then there's just the question of some history reading to do.. which of course I'm not behind on *cough*

Operatic intentions.

There's a presentation on Medea I should be working on right now, as well as some reading on the Crusades. Instead I'm emailing and msn'ing while listening to city and colour. I realise how often my blogs start with this, an outline of the work I'm supposed to be doing, and then an explanation of how I'm procrastinating instead. Will I change? Find out in two and a half years time! Yes, I know someone hates it when I speak like that, but hell, it was appropriate this time!

Currently reading One day in the life of Ivan Denisovich. Thought not many people had heard of it, then I found out my personal tutor ranks it highly as one of his favourite books. Came home, was walking with it upstairs and then my mother spotted it and proceeded to tell me how she read it thirty years ago and enjoyed it immensely. Not so much a literary hipster victory, but a fail. Yet I don't feel down, that would be facetious. That such a brilliant book is known is a good thing. Solzhenitsyn on the other hand, I can't say I identify with, his ideas of the prominence and importance of the Judeo-Christian tradition on civilisation and the ensuing morality is rather insulting. Though the influence on art, philosophy, literature, architecture and politics is undoubted, to say that the lack of belief in God results in moral breakdown is insulting to human reason and humanity in general. The shift from fear to responsibility is important, it weighs on a person. If you do wrong, you do wrong. When you don't, it's not because of the fear of divine retribution.

Been talking to an American college student of late. Reminded me how much I enjoy Opera. I should try to get down to London more often to see productions, to enjoy it and yet not see it live is wrong somehow. Same goes for theatre, I enjoy it, have of course been there, but don't go as often as I'd like. Ah, so much I want to do, so little motivation.

Stanza from Ginsberg's Howl.

who cut their wrists three times unsuccessfully,

gave up and were forced to open antique stores where

they thought they were growing old and cried.

I have started

To write again. It's much harder work than I thought it would be. Like quarrying away at a cliff face, in the vague hope that the resulting sculpture will resemble what you want it to.

In other news the cold is really starting to bite. Even with a woollen coat on top of a hoodie I was frozen this morning walking to University. Coupled with a strong, strong desire to have remained in bed, it was not a pleasant morning. The walk home was somewhat nicer, though I suspect it was due to the fact I was on my way home.

I'm not going to lie, University has become a drag. I realised today I have three essays, 2 seminar papers and a presentation to complete in the next month. The untold amounts of stress this will bring down upon me is untold, and I sure as hell don't deal with stress well. I'll get it done, I suppose, though to what standard I don't know. Why did I even do this degree anyway, it's not like I'm going to use it, I'll be co-running a café in Paris for fucks sake, how is that relevant to an English Degree.