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hathycolWell.
I don't want to be here.
And yet? I am.
So. Sunday was spent lazing in bed after eating too much food and watching the wonder that is Doctor Who. I like getting people hooked to Who. The remnants of the house curled up in the lounge (me, Simon and Sarah, anyway) to watch Good Will Hunting and also howl with laughter as Selda had not yet returned home. Sarah was shaking in shock slightly.
"She's STILL HERE."
"Oh?"
"SHE BOUGHT GARY BACK. AND SHE DID NOT KNOW I WAS THERE."
"... oh. Bad?"
"Spanking bad. It's always the quiet ones... EXCEPT QUIET SHE WAS NOT."
I winced out of a sort of solidarity and shared horror.
As I said, I spent Sunday mostly curled up and refusing to work, making poasta and going to see Handel's Messiah. Shush. I can be intellectual and all that jazz too.
I woke up too early and left too late, especially given that we got tremendously lost around the shiny world of Glasgow and that it goes dark a hell of a lot earlier than it did.
Now I am home again. It smells wrong. There is lots of fruit, name brands, no smell of lobster and no cheese toastie machine. The rhythm of the house is so... so... wrong, compared to what I've got used to in Gatty. No one is going to come around and sit in my lounge, or on the doorstep, having a fag and looking amused at my frantic attempts to day "NO! NO! I'M TOO SOBER!" I can't just leave the washing up to do until tomorrow. There are no bright neon plastic glasses dotted around the fucking pristine kitchen and let me tell you that's just odd. The house is far, far too warm. My room is not my room. It's a room with echoes of me, certainly, but it's not got the wine stain on the carpet from the first week. It's not got piles of notes haphazardly placed. (Hell, it doesn't have a desk.) I can't just arse around on the Net at 2am because our only internet is here, in the dining room. I can't curl up with Simon, despite now being closer to 400 metres than 400 miles due the whole, y'know, Catholic parents thing.
Oh well. I can, technically, go home (home? Gatty? St Andrews? No idea, where is home for me? There#s a post waiting to be written) When The Mood Suits Me, and all that, and I may go back for Hogmany (FEAR MY FAUX-SCOTTISHNESS) so we shall have to see.
Well. On the bright side, I am going out tomorrow for lunch to the Buck (oh, the Buck! My sweet, beloved Buck! WIth your cheap food!) and then going to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bohemia_thinker's Birthday Thing in the evening, so that shall be good. Even if I do not have my Toblerone to gift him this year, but I am already wildly into the overdraft so we don't talk about that, no. Also Grandad is coming to visit on Wednesday and that's always a positive thing.
I am on MSN. Haven't done that for a while. I think home is less bad because other people are here too and at least I can go and see all the people that I've missed. Because despite my Wild And Hedonistic Student Ways, involving lobsters and Bops and god knows what else, I've missed my friends back here.
See? See? This is my being optimstic and trying to stop myself using terms like "choring" and "foosty" because people look at me funnily when I do. Yay England?
This post is very mixed up. In conclusion - yay for being back with my Ormskirk friends, less yay for no longer living by myself. Or at least independently.
This song is possibly the most beautiful thing in the world.
~Hathy_Col~
I don't want to be here.
And yet? I am.
So. Sunday was spent lazing in bed after eating too much food and watching the wonder that is Doctor Who. I like getting people hooked to Who. The remnants of the house curled up in the lounge (me, Simon and Sarah, anyway) to watch Good Will Hunting and also howl with laughter as Selda had not yet returned home. Sarah was shaking in shock slightly.
"She's STILL HERE."
"Oh?"
"SHE BOUGHT GARY BACK. AND SHE DID NOT KNOW I WAS THERE."
"... oh. Bad?"
"Spanking bad. It's always the quiet ones... EXCEPT QUIET SHE WAS NOT."
I winced out of a sort of solidarity and shared horror.
As I said, I spent Sunday mostly curled up and refusing to work, making poasta and going to see Handel's Messiah. Shush. I can be intellectual and all that jazz too.
I woke up too early and left too late, especially given that we got tremendously lost around the shiny world of Glasgow and that it goes dark a hell of a lot earlier than it did.
Now I am home again. It smells wrong. There is lots of fruit, name brands, no smell of lobster and no cheese toastie machine. The rhythm of the house is so... so... wrong, compared to what I've got used to in Gatty. No one is going to come around and sit in my lounge, or on the doorstep, having a fag and looking amused at my frantic attempts to day "NO! NO! I'M TOO SOBER!" I can't just leave the washing up to do until tomorrow. There are no bright neon plastic glasses dotted around the fucking pristine kitchen and let me tell you that's just odd. The house is far, far too warm. My room is not my room. It's a room with echoes of me, certainly, but it's not got the wine stain on the carpet from the first week. It's not got piles of notes haphazardly placed. (Hell, it doesn't have a desk.) I can't just arse around on the Net at 2am because our only internet is here, in the dining room. I can't curl up with Simon, despite now being closer to 400 metres than 400 miles due the whole, y'know, Catholic parents thing.
Oh well. I can, technically, go home (home? Gatty? St Andrews? No idea, where is home for me? There#s a post waiting to be written) When The Mood Suits Me, and all that, and I may go back for Hogmany (FEAR MY FAUX-SCOTTISHNESS) so we shall have to see.
Well. On the bright side, I am going out tomorrow for lunch to the Buck (oh, the Buck! My sweet, beloved Buck! WIth your cheap food!) and then going to
bohemia_thinker's Birthday Thing in the evening, so that shall be good. Even if I do not have my Toblerone to gift him this year, but I am already wildly into the overdraft so we don't talk about that, no. Also Grandad is coming to visit on Wednesday and that's always a positive thing.I am on MSN. Haven't done that for a while. I think home is less bad because other people are here too and at least I can go and see all the people that I've missed. Because despite my Wild And Hedonistic Student Ways, involving lobsters and Bops and god knows what else, I've missed my friends back here.
See? See? This is my being optimstic and trying to stop myself using terms like "choring" and "foosty" because people look at me funnily when I do. Yay England?
This post is very mixed up. In conclusion - yay for being back with my Ormskirk friends, less yay for no longer living by myself. Or at least independently.
This song is possibly the most beautiful thing in the world.
~Hathy_Col~
no subject
Date: 2005-12-19 09:44 pm (UTC)Going home is always a bizarre experience. Three and a half years doing the uni thing and I still find it funny. The loss of independence is scary and frustrating - my mother inhabits a different, tidier, more organised planet to me - but hey, it's not forever!
Ooh, and if you're up for hogmanay let me know. Depending on how many flatmates return we may have a gathering of sorts. If not, I will be in a pub somewhere, happily ignoring my dissertation which will most probably still be waiting to be finished!
no subject
Date: 2005-12-19 10:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-12-19 10:12 pm (UTC)And I am oddly proud. Foosty is the best word in the world. There's such joy in hearing the German housemate use it.
JCB SONG!!!
Date: 2005-12-19 11:38 pm (UTC)So cute. The video must've taken them SOOO long to make!
And yes col, faux-Scottishness is fun! I'm only 1/8 but felt right at home in Lesmahagow when I used to visit friends there sometimes!
Take care hunny and have a happy crimbo
Han xXx
no subject
Date: 2005-12-20 12:19 am (UTC)xx
no subject
Date: 2005-12-20 02:30 pm (UTC)