Maxy's back

Dear Diary,

Well, it's been a month (since I blogged - a lot longer than that since I...) anyway.

I am over being a Classicist and not a historian now. This is the path I have chosen, and so that is the niche I am in. I am quite happy with having a Humanities degree conferred upon me (providing I work hard enough).

The reason I am content is because I am proud of being a Classicist, and more importantly, I discovered the meaning of the word humanitas in Latin. Of humanity, kindness, refinement.

I think I have found my speciality. I knew this was going to be the way I was going to go, in my heart of hearts, from the offset. I am going to be a historian, even if it is not written on my certificate. I have a gift for languages, and am adept at translating, either precisely or poetically. What can I do with music? Nothing. I have no means of income other than busking or playing a gig which pays only ten bucks and a meal (£12.50, I recently had a pay rise). They even take the tips for the musicians. I have never stooped to such a low level. You could be the best musician, the greatest poet in the world, and in this town, it would earn you nothing. I am the finest poet this generation has ever known, I am among the better musicians, and yet, I have all my work plagiarised by thieves, sold for profit, and my music is worthless. I, personally, am worth nothing, but a certain somebody (N.A. - he is not applicable) steals anything he can, and profits from it.

When I am dead, people will find out who really wrote what.

What can I do? Keep on sticking at my degree, not that anybody (of consequence) reads this. I've missed the boat, come into it too late. It's all been done before hasn't it? Well, no, actually. I am very adept at archaeology. In-fact, there are many areas where my skills are an asset, but I can see very few opportunities. This life is ephemeral.

In other news, I have discovered a few areas which have not been well excavated or researched, so their is hope yet.

Gung-Fu boy paid me another visit, after ripping off my letterbox, stealing my things and beating me up. I just don't care any more. This is just "stuff" and doesn't mean anything.

Cyborg is up on charges of assault, his lover slept with another friend of mine (she is ... not exactly the nicest looking lady, and foul-mouthed and uncouth, they deserve each other) and Cyborg, rather than be a philosopher, decided to be a brute instead. I know how he feels, it happened to me, but the answer was not then, and is not now, violent. Their is no answer, except to pick up the pieces, and move on.

I am dreading my upcoming Latin examination, but intend to revise hard for it. I cannot fail, so long as I revise. One woman on our course scored 97% in her assignment and still bailed out on the even attempting the examination, she has either done the course before, or, more likely, has no courage. (Although she is undergoing chemotherapy, to be fair). Shed loads of people flunked the archaeology, even more couldn't cut the Latin. It's not exactly difficult, if you're me. I am just cursed with learning's golden gifts.

Maybe one day I'll be somebody, they'll find a job for me. I am unlikely to get anywhere writing poetry or composing music - their is no money in it. It's pointless. I have no income. How do I avoid starvation? Go to the dole office like the rest of them? That is not an answer. I am not permitted to study and sign-on, and my pride will not permit me to go back there. I am in misery. Poorer now than I have ever been in my entire life. Sure, I do okay on the street, I live on between £20-30 a week. That's life. That's just the way it is. Do unskilled labour, or die.