madnesshamster

What a difference only doing 3 units a semester is having! I have managed so far a 100% journal review (one of 5 in the class though), a 96% on a prac report (which I am flabbergasted over since I changed directions with my argument halfway through and was too lazy/unmotivated to go back and change it) both for biology, and a top mark in the anthropology mid-sem test (88% in a class average of 59%, despite not having gotten around to studying because I was too busy writing the 96% prac write up at the time).

Clearly my mutant power of pulling gold out of my backside is working again.

If only my mutant power was the ability to have clear and permanent goals. I am having a crisis of direction again. Why won't they let me teach units that I don't have a PhD in? I know more about physical anthropology than either of the tutors this year, but I can't teach it without a post-grad degree in some sub-group of anthropology which I don't really want and don't think is relevant. It's mostly science based anyway. That's why I'm dong well, and my sociologist tutor can't comprehend what I'm talking about when I try to explain to him that mutations and adaptations are not separate things - an adaptation is just a mutation that has been selected for. And genetic drift! Who knew it was such a complex concept? Not me.

Meh. And so I descend into ranting again. Why can't I just study the stuff that interests me and then be paid lots of money to teach it to other people?

Argh! The stupid! It burns!

P.S. I am not a people person. Unless by people person you mean, I would like to hit most people over the head with heavy things.

P.P.S. It is amazing how little patience you are left with when your husband can not stopped coughing in 8 days.

Bugger. First draft of this semester's exam timetable is up. I have two Saturday afternoon exams in a row (by which I mean one on the 21st and one on the 28th, both at 2pm which is the worst time of day for my brain to have to work).

I am very unhappy.

I'm not entirely sure if this is a send up, a cock up or a coindicence.

This whole Caster Semenya story makes me some many kinds of angry.

I can't even articulate all the things that are wrong with the situation. People are so incredibly ignorant and I feel completely powerless to make any kind of difference.

Stupid fucking stupid people!

In other news, free book!

I'm going to really regret sending an email I wrote in anger to a 7 foot tall guy who does viking renactments and throws childish temper tantrums.

Found in the comments of a blog discussing toilet paper being used to dry hands.


Person 1: "Don’t you find that toilet paper just kind of shreds apart and leaves damp toilet paper lint all over your hands if you try this?

Maybe that industrial-strength stuff in public restrooms wouldn’t, but I’ve never tried. I just wipe my hands on my pants like any red-blooded, God-fearing American."


Person 2: "I appreciate your patriotism. But I think real God-fearin’ Americans just find a non-God-fearin’ American and use THEIR pants. Then they whisper something in their ear like, “If only you hated the gays, things like this wouldn’t happen to you.”"

Things is pretty good right now (it's probably just the wine talking but here goes).

In 33 days we will be debt free with the promise of the (terrifyingly) large investment paying off in the near future should we wish to take advantage of it immediately.

Only 3 units this semester means I have 2 and a half days of not-uni plus weekends. I am getting my readings done. I have organised a study group. I have only a few assignments to do which I will (repeat will) get done early and they will be brilliant as a result.

AGM for MUBS on Monday night will hopefully result in our mutiny being successful, meaning I will be editor of a newly created newsletter and website which will hopefully give me a boost when I get around to applying for journalism internships at COSMOS and ABC Science.

A return to singing lessons are being dangled as a carrot, which I am looking forward to provided I can find a teacher who will be suitable (ie, not a member of MCF who tries to convince me I will never be anything more than a mediocre soprano).

But for now good food, good wine, good books and a good husband are doing a good job of keeping me happy.

I am entirely convinced that the people who put sizes on bras are just making it up as they go along. 16G of one brand fits exactly the same as a 20E of another. How does that work?

Driving down the M2 with the perfect blue winter sky and Dear Prudence playing. I wish the radio had a repeat fuction.

Great. I'm suddenly allergic to apples now. Proper mouth tingly, chest tightening allergy, not the boring old vomity intolerence that I get with most things. Happy fun.

Nothing like spending an afternoon studying defecation.

In related news, I am woefully underprepared for my physiology exam tomorrow.

In other uni related news, I had my first creative writing workshop last Friday. This is basically where we have to bring in a single page of something we've written (in whatever form) and read it for the class. They then get to comment/critique/discuss/opine on the work and you aren't allowed (until the very end) to explain/justify/contextualise your work.

As intimidating as this would be anyway, I didn't realise until much to late that the piece I chose (because I was lazy and this was the only thing I had edited to a reasonable level) was basically a page of explicit sexual innuendo. Reading this in front of a roomful of 19 year olds was possibly the most embarrassing thing I've ever done.

Luckily, most people got what I was trying to express and the comments from the teacher were aimed at a much higher level than she's given to anyone else so far. The biggest compliment was when my teacher, Kathryn Heyman, asked if she could keep her copy (usually she writes comments on her copy and hands it back to the student at the end) so she could use it as an example when she teaches her Masters class!

Me, pathetic lowly undergrad, now has a scientific paper and a creative writing piece being used to demonstrate writing to post-grads!

Plus, my Mummy is proud of me!

Many many many thanks to penguin2 for the editing advice, and to EngeryAustralia for causing the blackout that forced me to sit down and start writing properly!

I'm not sure if this is an epic fail or an epic win. It seems all the Anth lecturers at uni are awesome except the one I happen to have.

Drama drama drama!

EDIT:

The story of my week.

Bitch whinge moan rant!

*bang head on table*

674 words. Only, like, 3000 more to go.

Creative writing is a horrible, painful thing. I'm willing to admit that maybe it is only those things when there are deadlines involved, but there you have it.

Awesome things for this week:

* Erib Bibb last night!

* Discovering the existence of a 16 year old that looks like he might turn into a human being (and complimenting his parents on their achievement)

* Reassurance that I wasn't getting carried away with the enthusiasm displayed on my previous meeting with Greg Downey in relation to my doing honours with him. He came over out of the blue while I was studying to check on how I was going and give me a little direction on what I might focus on within the Anth class I am doing this semester. I guess that means not only does he remember me, but he really has taken an interest in me. Woo!

* Tim Minchin tomorrow night. And he is doing Storm as part of his act.


Not so awesome things for this week:

* Another year gone that I have wasted being fat.

* No phone

* Too many assignments due soon that I have not written. I wonder if there is a way I be exempt from essays which do not interest me. It's not that I don't have the knowledge, I just don't find that writing within their requirements will be of any benefit to me. I am beyond the stage of information regurgitation essays, as should all of my classmates be (but they are mostly Chiro students so I guess I should cut them some slack).

For reasons which aren't particularly important, I was looking up the lyrics to the jazz classic 'Fever'. The top Google hit gives me the lyrics of the last verse as:

"Now you listened to my story
Here's the point that i have made
Chicks were born to give you fever
Be it fair and have a sense of game"

Do they not teach children about temperature scales these days?

We had a black out and now my computer seems to think that it is a little after midnight on the 4th Jan 1980. Wow! I haven't even been born yet! I guess that means my birthday tomorrow has been cancelled.

In other news, having no power finally forced me to sit down and get over my self imposed inability to write for my creative writing class and I have written stuffs! That isn't too awful! I hope! I seem to have absorbed a fair amount of the Richard Ford that I've been re-reading lately, but managed to make it slightly easier to work out what the crap is going on.

I am now wishing I'd put myself down to do my workshop this week instead of the week after the break because I'd actually like to have some input on it instead of being terrified of the prospect of having to read my crap out to people. Crazy!