Diagnosed with A.S.T.S.

Dear Diary,

Today I was diagnosed with A.S.T.S. It’s an extremely rare condition, and affects fewer and fewer people each year due to new remedies and treatment. “Acute Surf Teddy Syndrome” is what I’ve diagnosed myself with, after much critical analysis.

Being labelled as such is after sitting at the keyboard, gawping at Surf Teddy staring at a blank screen, as one gazes at one’s own blank screen.

I have meditated upon this one question: “can urbanism be a singular phenomenon?” each fleeting moment of every passing day for the past couple of weeks, at least. I have pondered this question while setting my pants on fire, falling asleep next to the wood burner. Last night all I could dream about was ancient cities in Mesopotamia, Egypt and Mesoamerica.

Hopping from one foot to the next, “It is a single phenomenon. No, it’s not the same everywhere.” and so on and so forth. Similarities, differences, I am freaking out, big-time. T-minus eleven hours.

I think I’ll watch Surf Teddy again, and ponder the problem some more.

Okay. Getting stuck into this essay is great! Much like hard work or punishment, it is very rewarding. I have gone with my ‘gut instinct’ and have written the paper from the perspective of a plebeian, a prole, a person. It is cynical, scientific, realist, gritty, dry, and most of all: no f- about evidence based arguments backed up by a veritable plethora of citations, only about half of which are ratified by the University.

Fcuk it. I’m just gonna go for it, fail or no fail. Alright. *rolls sleeves up* “You really want to know what I think about urbanisation?” (Quigley, 1961, pp.211-212) The Evolution of Civilizations and (Reade, 1872, pp.6-9, 18-19 & 28-29) The Martyrdom of Man.

That’s what I think about urbanisation as a singular phenomenon. Oh yes, I have had to couch some fairly illiberal views in this one. If I fcuk it up, so be it.

Now I am very f- stressed out. I just went over to Mr.X’s place to see about uploading the essay. It just so happens I pick the day when he has sent his machine off for repair. So, home (through the floods and storms), grab the PC and a screen, haul it over the hill and back again. Meanwhile it’s a full-blown bachelor party goin’ on round there, one cannot move for people. Nightmare. Back to the grind...

22:22 hours, D-day in T-minus 1 hour or so counting. Bugger, bugger, bugger. The essay is a complete bloody shambles I just re-read it (I was just going to send it) and it’s a bloody good job matey took his ’puter to the repair shop. This piece of ... whatever it is needs reworking completely.

Calm Max. Edit it. Refine it.

You can do this.