I found my glasses. Might still get new ones, but I found my other ones. Which is good.
Today, I got my laptop tested. It was a wholly disturbing experience. I trudged up to the Estates office, which is tucked away out of sight next to the IT drop-in centre, where a man by the name of Neil with absurdly gelled hair, a repulsive green sweatshirt and a patronising yet utterly pathetic lisp was sitting. I asked - no, wheedled - about maybe getting my laptop tested, despite not having an appointment, and he stared at me. Silence fell. He stood up, still staring.
A sheen of sweat began to form on my forehead. I couldn’t tell - was it the heat, the light, or this creature of a man?
He broke the silence, telling me that yes, we can test your laptop, but we’ll have to go down to the sports hall. Shit. This could end in a myriad of ways.
- I go down to the sports hall, a place I avoid at the best of times, and get roped into some perverse game of football, or rugby, or whatever strange and unusual torturous practices they engage in down there.
- I go down to the sports hall, and he takes me into an office, whereupon he reveals himself to me and performs horribly suitable acts upon me (suitable, of course, references the fact that this is a Catholic college).
- We go down to the sports hall and he tests my laptop.
Now I was panicking. Trembling. What horrors would await at the Hall of Sport? Awkwardness? Exercise? Torture? Rape? I didn’t know, and I was beginning to think that I’d rather take the risk of being electrocuted by my perfectly safe laptop than go down with this scary-looking-and-sounding man.
To cut a long story short, I got my laptop tested, I didn’t get roped into the s or the r-word (sport and rape respectively), and I eased myself out of the workshop (Aquinas has a workshop, apparently) with what could almost be called ease.
The countdown has more or less begun for Xavier’s departure - not much is going to be done from now until the end (tomorrow, about 8.30 AM), though we are going out to the Chinese buffet place tonight for tea. Which should be nice - it’s a while since we’ve been there.
I’m beginning to realise I had absolutely no idea for what to write when I started this. Hasn’t turned out too badly, I guess.
I’m happy. I suppose that’s the problem, in some bizarre, perverse way. I can’t get sad - I get angry, annoyed, even pissed off, but these are all random and temporary tangents from the norm of feeling great. I’m not used to this. I’m used to feeling stressed, or upset, or depressed, and I’m not sure how to deal with this. I feel love for every little tiny thing in the world, even the dicks (mainly metaphorical), and it’s the perfect kind - a non-exclusive, non-sexual, non-romantic sort. I feel like my brain has turned into a fountain of thin, fluorescent goop, firing into the air at a million miles a second with no sign of stopping.
The only thing I do not feel is beautiful. The spots are coming back.
