I'm currently loitering at the back of a lecture hall in the School of Divinity.
I'm supposed to be diligently arguing against the contradictions in Origen's theology (for those not in the know: very self-righteous Christian founding father - eventually condemned as a heretic) but being that I read half his work, skimmed the Wiki and am on countdown until I can get the train back to civilisation...this studying bollocks is just not happening.
I'm supposed to be diligently arguing against the contradictions in Origen's theology (for those not in the know: very self-righteous Christian founding father - eventually condemned as a heretic) but being that I read half his work, skimmed the Wiki and am on countdown until I can get the train back to civilisation...this studying bollocks is just not happening.
Thus far I've managed to waste time browsing tattoos on BME and DeviantArt, reading the recent updates on the few blogs/Tumblr's that I follow, playing with Stumble Upon and have eventually resorted to reading through old emails and evaluating my life.
[The former is far more interesting and if you're only reading this for the mildly embarrassing, shamelessly candid entries I suggest scrolling to the end.]
For those still with me, I had a bit of an epiphany the other night.
I'm not the product of my upbringing, I'm the product of what I said my upbringing was.
Given, it's been eventful, but genuinely if I had to throw it into summary format it would probably run thus:
Grim beginning, but technically a lucky escape because my father was (from what I've heard) an utter dick. Very loved by the rest of my family - probably bordering on spoilt. Bit of an oddball in school, understood fairly early that pretending to be fictional characters wasn't the best way to win friends - did it anyway. Over-achiever, stint of super sporting prowess. Harshly treated but I remember NONE of it. Led to scholarship at tiny (spectacularly weird) all girls school. Six typically mouthy, growing-up-trauma-filled but epic years. College, still unfeasibly academic, but a bit of a drunken rebel. Dated a teacher. Regretted it. 'Angry young woman' phase lost me Cambridge. Really wasn't bothered. Moved to Edinburgh. Continued to have shite taste in men. Took up smoking. Two and a half years of craziness and one near-death experience later, quit smoking, picked up poetry, cut down drinking, still look like a fictional character, not quite as academic but generally peachy keen.
Boring, non?
You see, usually when I tell that story the focus rests entirely on justifying why I act like an absolute knob but really, when contextualised and minus the over-emphasis (creative license), the only explanation for my eight year crazies is that I decided that was the way I 'ought' to act.
Upshot, I'm bored.
So I'll talk myself out of it the same way I went in.
*Breathe*
Much better.
Now, ahoy to everybody that skipped the pseudo-psychological bollocks...
Rupert Wanderlust, sorry mate, but you're not out the firing line just yet - I've been looking back into the recesses of my 'Replies' folder and I thought I'd bring some of your killer flirtation /bullshit tactics into the public forum.
Take a gander at these gems:
Re: The Formative Emails "Without being too specific, I'm hoping to draw inspiration from your delicate sensibilities. ;)"
Considering the fact you spend a majority of your time ranting about prostitutes, am I supposed to be flattered?
Re: My Poetry "I want you to read this stuff to me in the way it was intended whilst choking me with a crudely cut length of velvet. Is it wrong for me to find this stuff mildly erotic?"
Yes. It is.
Re: The First 'Date' "you are stunningly beautiful. Every pose reminded me of our time together the other night and how fucking lucky I was to be so close to you. I'm unimaginably aroused right now."
That line only works in Black Lace novels and would-be-classy British pornography - not real life.
Also, I was 16 in those photos...
Re: False Promises "Remember that metaphorical book of yours? I'd like to thing [sic] we could pen ourselves a new one. I'm ranting (alcohol fuelled maybe?) - my point is simply this, I want *you* + emotional baggage."
Get yourself a bigger luggage rack for future affairs then, genius.
Re: The End "it's time to get on with our lives. (I think I win on the 'sounding like a twat' front)"
Well, it would just be plain rude to disagree.
[I said I was sane, not a fucking saint...*giggles*]
Annie.
<3
[The former is far more interesting and if you're only reading this for the mildly embarrassing, shamelessly candid entries I suggest scrolling to the end.]
For those still with me, I had a bit of an epiphany the other night.
I'm not the product of my upbringing, I'm the product of what I said my upbringing was.
Given, it's been eventful, but genuinely if I had to throw it into summary format it would probably run thus:
Grim beginning, but technically a lucky escape because my father was (from what I've heard) an utter dick. Very loved by the rest of my family - probably bordering on spoilt. Bit of an oddball in school, understood fairly early that pretending to be fictional characters wasn't the best way to win friends - did it anyway. Over-achiever, stint of super sporting prowess. Harshly treated but I remember NONE of it. Led to scholarship at tiny (spectacularly weird) all girls school. Six typically mouthy, growing-up-trauma-filled but epic years. College, still unfeasibly academic, but a bit of a drunken rebel. Dated a teacher. Regretted it. 'Angry young woman' phase lost me Cambridge. Really wasn't bothered. Moved to Edinburgh. Continued to have shite taste in men. Took up smoking. Two and a half years of craziness and one near-death experience later, quit smoking, picked up poetry, cut down drinking, still look like a fictional character, not quite as academic but generally peachy keen.
Boring, non?
You see, usually when I tell that story the focus rests entirely on justifying why I act like an absolute knob but really, when contextualised and minus the over-emphasis (creative license), the only explanation for my eight year crazies is that I decided that was the way I 'ought' to act.
Upshot, I'm bored.
So I'll talk myself out of it the same way I went in.
*Breathe*
Much better.
Now, ahoy to everybody that skipped the pseudo-psychological bollocks...
Rupert Wanderlust, sorry mate, but you're not out the firing line just yet - I've been looking back into the recesses of my 'Replies' folder and I thought I'd bring some of your killer flirtation /bullshit tactics into the public forum.
Take a gander at these gems:
Re: The Formative Emails "Without being too specific, I'm hoping to draw inspiration from your delicate sensibilities. ;)"
Considering the fact you spend a majority of your time ranting about prostitutes, am I supposed to be flattered?
Re: My Poetry "I want you to read this stuff to me in the way it was intended whilst choking me with a crudely cut length of velvet. Is it wrong for me to find this stuff mildly erotic?"
Yes. It is.
Re: The First 'Date' "you are stunningly beautiful. Every pose reminded me of our time together the other night and how fucking lucky I was to be so close to you. I'm unimaginably aroused right now."
That line only works in Black Lace novels and would-be-classy British pornography - not real life.
Also, I was 16 in those photos...
Re: False Promises "Remember that metaphorical book of yours? I'd like to thing [sic] we could pen ourselves a new one. I'm ranting (alcohol fuelled maybe?) - my point is simply this, I want *you* + emotional baggage."
Get yourself a bigger luggage rack for future affairs then, genius.
Re: The End "it's time to get on with our lives. (I think I win on the 'sounding like a twat' front)"
Well, it would just be plain rude to disagree.
[I said I was sane, not a fucking saint...*giggles*]
Annie.
<3
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