Ahh, life's little hurdles. I am very much topsy-turvy at the moment, most especially for numerous reasons: the constant impoverished circumstance does little to help, though I know it is up to me to pull myself out of it (getting a job at this time of year in a small town with no transport is highly unlikely, but I can always go begging of course). I am seriously pissed off about my computer "dying" and the shop refusing to repair it despite the fact that they were obliged to do so. I can't stand these old crap second hand machines, the 60Hz frequency and low resolution hurts my eyes; but as the very least, the fact I can't run any programs (from a lack of permissions) is not a problem, I just read anyway. I cannot afford to replace the only nippy machine I have ever owned, which pisses me right off.
The spectre of me very possibly failing my degree haunts me so much, that I am going to have to have bad news for the family this Christmas (on average I am invited to Christmas dinner only once every half-decade on my mum's side - Dan, a builder and neighbour didn't believe I was Fiona and Chris' son because he used to live next door to them and spent Christmas every year with them and never saw me there). Both my brothers have degrees and as per usual I will be the resident family failure.
Much as I enjoy digging holes in the rain for $5/hour, busting my ass for Chairlady Mao and Jackie Chan down at Won's Westwon and being exploited week in week out for the Commie café, it can't last.
To make matters worse I have a ringing in my ears which has steadily increased over the past couple of weeks. This morning I hear a high-pitched sound in my left ear which is a constant irritation. I fear the only way to drown it out is by playing musical instruments constantly, which of course means going back to France once I fail my degree, if I fail, which looks increasingly likely.
The fact that Nat West charged ten times the amount for my old account with them (unlawfully) means I had to default on an account so couldn't take out a loan, thus re-take my Latin. The fact that the powers that be decided to slash all the funding for tertiary education means I will not be able to afford to re-take my examination if and when I fail. The only net result of this is that I am definitely going to "do one" once I flunk. This will be the last Christmas I spend in Blightey. I am fed up with the only "friends" I have are insane. Wolfae is completely deluded. The geeks at the roleplaying group are all real dorks. I have no-one to talk to about classical studies, which annoys the hell out of me. It doesn't matter. The road ahead looks good. Much as I will miss working for less than minimum wage, begging in a dusty alleyway and being shafted by Commies, it will be nice to do gigs for more than a score again, perhaps even enjoy a round of applause once in awhile. France has many benefits. For a start the minimum wage is half again what it is here. The wine is nice (we don't have wine here) as is the food (the food here is very average). The women have looser morals (thank God) and you don't need to own a Mercedes just to get laid.
I miss Didier. A great deal. Just being able to wake up, hug another man, then talk about history in between making and repairing musical instruments is something I miss a great deal.
In short, life is a living hell, a monotonous grind, with only little Ronulus (whose name I have changed again). He is now "Mr. Ronulus Litterator Maximus Fleximus Augustus Caesar Magister Artium (Barkaeology) Esquire". Because the little Terrier bit me, I am going to have to re-home him when I leave, because I refuse to have a microchip put in his head, for a pet passport. It is unethical.
All in all one day blends in to the next in a dull monotonous silent drudgery of pain, sorrow and solitude. Life sucks. What with the rights to our nukes being sold to the Chinese, the cuts in H.M.'s Constabulary, the Forces, Education, Health Care, not to mention the low rates of pay, high cost of living and constant pressure from an increase in crime, makes me want to leave. I have had enough. They'll probably try and fish me out of the channel once I start rowing. I'm thinking of taking a chain and millstone to place about my neck in-case they do, so I can go overboard and finally get to heaven. I hate my life. I hate it.
I know it is up to me to turn it around. Yet, I cannot escape the shame of both my brothers having passed their degrees straight out of college, then there is me, Mr. Failure. I know I can do better, much better.
Writing is no avenue to employment, unless you want only Amazon and Random House to profit. As predicted, I will likely die of poverty and malnutrition. Thank God. Let's get it over with. I can't stand just waiting around, waiting to buy the farm.
Who on earth wants to read Shakespearean verse replete with classical allusions? Virtually no-one, for virtually no-one understands it. I wrote this the other day.
Heaven-sent ram saved Phrixus and Helle, Or the man-eating mares from Hercules, Virtues, collective conscience embodied, Jason, Aeëtes, the fleece of Aries, An Oedipal battle in families: A pattern traced, the god of war, is he.
Europa’s alabaster bull of Zeus, Bovine Io traced her name in the dust, Poseidon’s milk-white Mithraic Minos, The Redeemer, stains fertile soil with drops, Aphroditë born of foamy aphros, Or old eastern tales: taming of the ox.
Klotho spins Kappa, Theta, Lambada, Gentle hawthorn’s grace: dead, banished, scattered, Hercules kills Kheiron, Lerna’s hydra, From sev’n to nine, Ogmyos forced afar, The Part of Fortune: The Charioteer, Lewis’ Callanish: rising Capella.
The second half of life, Saturn’s time, twins, Shepherd Zethus and music, Amphion, Another Arion, Polydeuces And Castor, appearing both one side on The earth’s face, from rising high falling low, Each as Icarus’ wax, melting as snow.
Max.
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