Got my LNAT back today.  I did terribly.  18 out of 30.  No wonder Cambridge didn't want me, and I shouldn't be surprised if Durham says the same thing.  Slightly surprised King's said yes, now, because they accept it as well.  Warwick is blissfully ignorant and you know what?  I still couldn't care less.  Oh well.

 

I'm realising more and more at the moment that it's difficult for me to put things on hold, any things, for times when I can sort them out properly.  This includes personal things as well, and especially things where I know the logical way to go forward.  I don't know; are you any good with doing things you know are right?  My boundaries between Right and Wrong, and Good and Bad are so blurred at the moment, I can't quite work things out.  If you like thinking of it on an ethical level, should one person choose what is right for them or what is right for the most people?  How in each case should the level of risk affect their judgement?  (That is hypothetically, if A is definitely right for you, but B has a 50% chance of being right for 5 other people, what do you?)  And what in whoever's name is Right in the first place?

 

Stop looking at me knowingly.  Just because you think about these things too on occasions doesn't make you an authority on them.

 

One moment while I retrieve my train of thought from my own backside.

 

Thank you.

 

Look, do you understand where I'm coming from, is the question, or don't you?

 

[Carefully avoiding all cliches about stamped addressed envelopes.]

 

On an entirely unrelated note, if it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me.  That aside, it actually looks really good.  http://litpark.com/2008/01/28/the-liars-diary-blog-day/

Quite a lot has been happening recently: consequently I was dead to the world from shortly after I got home last night (1am, babysitting before you think I've been going wild and being sociable) until midday today.

 

I made bread today (photos to follow, once I've got them off my phone), and it came out perfect.  Absolutely jacket-of-cookbook-style perfect.  I had excellent fun kneading, which I recommend to everyone.  You're meant to do it for at least ten minutes, and after three I had tired arms, but then I paused for a glass of orange juice, as you do, and returned with a vengeance, and it was so, SO satisfying.  After fifteen minutes, I was shouting at the dough "and THIS - is because I didn't get into Cambridge, and THIS - is for my B in English, and THIS - is for holding grudges, and THIS - is righteous anger for H and THIS -" etc.  Making bread in an empty house is fantastic stress relief, no joke.

 

I keep thinking of things I want to say and not having internet access.  And now I've forgotten them all.

I'll come back to you, yeah?

I've decided that I actually quite like it after all, it improves with the reading, so I'm going to post up the poem I wrote for Poetry Society on Tuesday because they have this cheery-uppy effect on me.  Which is very lovely of them.  Cheers to them all x

 

To everyone else, I apologise.

 

(NOT A POEM)

=========

 

I am not a Poet,
She said, she said -
Not for you or anyone else.
Do not treat my words as gospel
Or in any way deep,
I don't know why you would
(I am not a Poet, she said-)
But don't.
My punctuation keeps its form,
Like this;- she said. She said
There's nothing Underlying
About my choice of Free Verse
(Except for - sonnets seem too grand,
She said)
So do not analyse me to the nth degree.
I analyse, she said.
That is what I do.
I am not a Poet, she said.

So the story is now as follows:

 

Cambridge: no luck.

London School of Economics: no luck, but not bothered.

Durham: still waiting.

Warwick: still waiting, but not bothered.

King's College London: I GOT AN OFFER!!!!!!!!  Muchly happy, it's three As but I can do it, I know I can, just need a bit of work.  I have something to aim for now, and it's good.  This also means I don't have to resort to Plan E.  Which is a good thing.

 

And now Torchwood is back as well.  John Barrowman and a plan for the next three years.  Do you know, this is the second best day of the new year.

It's strange, once you can't do anything any more, this is the year I've been hearing the stories.

 

Disappointment, that's a common feature of it, and it's strange the way different people deal with it.  Some don't, obviously, because they don't need to or because they don't want to.  Some people do everything quietly, I've seen more locked toilet doors followed by red-eyed grimness in the last few weeks than I have ever.  Is that me noticing people I can (since October and for entirely different reasons) count myself among the ranks of?  Or is it really that there are more of them?  I don't know.

 

Some people talk about it.  Minding their words, always mind your words, don't make anyone feel worse than they already might be.

 

A lot of people don't understand, because you see they didn't aim Far Too High.  The risk wasn't there, and now they have their offers to prove it.  Maybe this is judging some people too harshly.  No, I know it is.  Well done to all of them, they know what they're doing, they're not left hanging.  I'm happy for them.

 

I heard one story, earlier, about someone I knew who was devastated at not having got into his university of choice last year.  He's now going somewhere better.  That's good, it makes me smile for him, but I wish... there were somewhere better I could aim for next year.  That's the problem with choosing the top.  There's nowhere to go but down.

 

My story isn't over yet.  Okay, so, I didn't get into Cambridge.  They didn't want me.  I'm not the best of the best of the best.  But, that's not the end.  Durham and Kings.  Durham and Kings.  Durmankings.  I've been repeating it to myself over the last few days so many times it's become a blur.  Hope.

Well, finally somebody has got round to telling me what a self-obsessed arse I have been for the majority of the last year, so here are my new resolutions, for ever as opposed to just the next year, and you can hold me to them.

I would just like you to know that I have done twenty minutes' revision for this exam, which is an English resit, on the way walking back up to college.

 

This, boys and girls, is what's known as Winging It, and hoping that my feedback from last year, and S's wonderful if slightly draconian teaching (which suited me perfectly) pay off.

 

PanIIIIIIIC.

 

*UPDATE, 5.45pm*  Well and truly blagged.  If I get upgraded to an A, that will make my MONTH.  There's one mark in it...

A few days ago, on my return to college, I couldn't get on to blog on the college system, which was highly irritating apart from anything else - it's usually quite a nice calming influence mid-morning when nobody's around to draft an entry or whatnot, and all I had left after this was endless browsing of the Poetry Foundation, Times Online and BBC News.

 

As you can see, however, it's all back to normal (and thank God for it) so either somebody's chickened out in the axis of power, or they're just being nice, or... something else, that I can't think of.  It was definitely blocked though, and I was definitely not about to send a shirty e-mail to the technicians because then they'd know who I was.  Well.  They could probably find out anyway.  But they'd also know I was bothered about it.

 

You might like this http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7174760.stm because much as Jeremy Clarkson is amusingly scathing at times and has an intellect which is sometimes wasted on doing things like being an arse, he deserves all he gets here, and I salute him for admitting it.  I also salute the person who set up the direct debit for generally being an All Round Good Egg.

 

I shall now depart for coffee.  Ahem.

Watching Wire in the Blood as we speak, so if I go off on one at all it's because I've just seen Robson Green doing something depraved.  I love this programme.  (I also love Robson Green but you know, apparently it's a bit weird to fancy the same people as your mother, so I shall content myself with ogling Rupert P-J whenever the situation arises.)

 

Exams coming up, English and Maths this week, and an Economics next week and another the week after.  After the Maths exam, another Economics mock, which ordinarily I would begrudge but S is in hospital and I can't exactly get annoyed with him, he can't help it.  And the more practice the better for this particular exam.  WORRYING NOW.  Just watch me panic in May.

 

I give up on writing anything much, so I shall leave you with a poem by Charles Bukowski, and get back to playing Solitaire.

 

8-COUNT

======

 

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.

 

one flies
off.
then
another.

 

one is left,
then
it too
is gone.

 

my typewriter is
tombstone
still.

 

and I am
reduced to bird
watching.

 

just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.

Well, I suppose I always knew it was going to happen.  I didn't get into Cambridge.  I'm disappointed, of course I am, but not unduly so.

 

I'm glad I know.

 

The question really is what happens now and I think I've sorted that out.  Don't think I'm finished with this yet.  All I've decided is that I will be doing some form of Law degree there, it just... might not be a BA.  There's a lot of life ahead of me yet.  I can work.  I can wait.

 

In my darker moments, I get a picture of going somewhere I don't want to be, and getting a second class degree, and smiling sadly at the irony.  But watch me now, because I think they have made the wrong decision.

 

Back to the drawing board it is, then.

 

PLAN B:  Durham.  If they'll have me.  Otherwise;

PLAN C:  Kings College London.  If they'll have me.  Otherwise;

PLAN D:  Don't want to go to Warwick, so I'll have a gap year, reapply next year, and spend this year earning money and doing interesting things.  Like, say, Ten Tors.  Or going round Europe.  Or learning French, or Punjabi.  Or spending a month on a canal boat in Ireland.  Or seeing if something like the Guardian or the Economist would let me do some form of internship.  Or pestering Blake Lapthorn for a job.  The world, obviously, therefore becoming my oyster.

PLAN E:  Live at home until I'm 35 and drink myself to an early grave.  Hurrah :)