If My Penis Was Deformed I Wouldn’t Know

May 28, 2008

Whenever I begin a new journal I always start with the same sentence: I was reading (some journal) and I thought I should keep a journal because it feels like a (whatever kind of person I want to be/job I want to have at the time) ought to keep a journal. The last time I kept a journal was (last time I kept a journal) and I (some story about my life) but (some rationalisation of some flaw I perceive myself to have) so I’ll give it a shot anyway.

All that stuff is basically true again, but I don’t want to muse on the nature of musing too much so I’ll just leap straight into journaling. I cannot simply be content. If I become content, or just happy, or just happy-ish, I question it. I enjoy going to university at the moment. Why? What do I do there that I enjoy? What makes a good class? I was remarking about this to Chelsea – a successful day is one in which I a) make the class laugh and/or b) win an argument. The day I told her this I had done both so I was buzzing. Before and after I do this I spend about 10 hours on the computer doing work, studying, faffing, listening to a Ricky Gervais radio show from six years ago. If my day was a line of amplitude it would be completely flat at the beginning and end with a massive spike in the middle where I am brimming with self-satisfaction. When I leave the classroom I am relegated to relative nobody-ness. If this is why I like university, instead of thinking that an education in critical theory can help people, then I am a selfish and pathetic person. I don’t think I am, but the the chance that I am terrorises me at the horizon of possibility. Boooo.

Other things I enjoy: making people laugh, making people orgasm. I believe this is because both responses are, though fakeable, are generally involuntary, therefore sincere. I cannot enjoy human interaction most times because I assume that even the most benign exchanges are rife with secret, ambiguous hostility. Booooooo.

Anyway, things are generally on the up at the moment because we started to lay out First Page (I remembered/realised that laying out a publication is something I genuinely love [other things: riding the bus, cup of tea]) and I got an 82% for an oral presentation. That’s my third high distinction this semester, meaning that… well, nothing really, apart from I’m doing really well and regretting my abysmal past performances from when I didn’t care. What can I do to erase those fumbles? Nothing, apart from be declared the best writer in all the land. I’d feel okay after that.

I shaved my beard a while ago to get rid of the stringy trimmed whiskers but even the regrowth is stringy and coarse. Boooo boooo, thousands of times on all of my heads, boo.

Also I have to do a bunch of poetry exercises which I will post up here SWEET, DO THAT, ME.

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