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*blinks* I'd swear Nabokov just accused Virgil of being gay. Suddenly that year spent studying The Aeneid makes much more sense. ;)

How's it going? Don't ask.

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Porters are *still* not there for me to collect my post, despite this being the second time I've gone, in the second 'appointed' hour when they're supposed to be there. Next one is 3-4 and if they aren't there then, there will be Grate and Post-Depprived-Wrath.

I've been working since about half eight this morning. I *need* my post for my sanity dammit!

Sigh. Fine. I'll finish plot summarying Lolita and go actually start writing then. Have less than 24 hours to write 4,000 words. Considering Middlemarch's 2,000 took me twelve hours, this is... worrying. Or should be.

Fortunately I'm too busy being grossed out by the icky parts of Lolita that I'd forgotten to stress. Yet.

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"Farlow, with whom I had roamed those remote woods, was an admirable marksman , and with his .38 actually managed to hit a hummingbird, though I must say not much of it could be retrieved for proof - only a little iridescent fluff." - Lolita, p.214

I don't *like* this book anymore.

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Fanom_wank having a "omgchildporn!" wank debate just when it's most topical for my uni work? Priceless. And also, awesome. :D I'd forgotten about Australia's laws; I totally have to bring those in.

Fandom_wank, you are my god.

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There's a bird making sounds like one of those squeaky dog toys outside my window. I've been wtfing at it for a good ten minutes. Seriously, why would a bird *ever* want to mimic one of the most irritating sounds in existence?

It's gone 6pm and I'm at five hundred words. Oh, happiness. Sleep is out tonight then.

And there's still no porter there for me to get my post. -_-

Bored.

I've reached a 1,000 words without actually exerting any part of my brain. This doesn't mean I am in any way clever; it simply means there's far too much to talk about and I'm not even at the end of my first section and oh, it's inevitable that I'm going to run out of wordspace. This is not important.

What's important is that I'm really, really bored. Oh, and also that what I've written so far is appalling, I didn't know I could still write essays this badly but I'm a quarter of the way there and it's not even dark yet. Hey-hey! I might actually hand in something approaching 4,000 words. Something in there will have to make some sense or something, I think. Maybe. Ish.

MORE IMPORTANT than any of this, is that I finally found a porter there to collect my post and I got my box from scoobydumblonde. *snuggles tight* Love you too. You are so awesome; I really needed something to cheer me up enough to keep writing and it did it. Only now I have to come up with a name for another teddy. Hmmm. Will ponder as I write the rest of this stupid essay. *snuggles you some more*

Why is wolves8 not in her room?! I need someone to legitimately distract me from writing more and she's nowhere to be found. Damn.

*smiles pleasantly*

Bite. Me.

Unrelated: This cd is great. I can't believe I didn't listen to it for months.

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I was trying to avoid letting Tursunov's blog distract me this week but I've failed dismally as of now. Seriously, the guy makes me wonder how many real tennis players are snooping around the internet pretending to be shrieking fangirls. And being *better* at it than most of the shrieking fangirls, crikey. He's a complete nut and it's wonderful. The mention of scary cat fights in the locker room over the massage table? *dies*

I actually came back online because I'm bored and I know this essay is appallingly bad because I was wondering how to politely say "fucked her" in an essay context. "had sex with" I guess, because "slept with" feels totally dumb like I'm dancing around the point being too shy to say it but... eh.

1, 726 words. Once I get to 2,000 I'm going for a shower 'cause it'll be halfway and I need to be awake for the second half. Oh god. I'm doing so badly at this but I'm figuring I got good marks in the rest of the module so this shouldn't pull it down beyond redemption. I really did pick the hardest topic in existence, because in the words of Casanova I'm a knob I'm an idiot. Sigh.

edit: I also promise to stop spamming you all with pointless posts from tomorrow since this is the last really hard piece of coursework I have to do. Except the poetry portfolio but even that isn't this bad. Eh.