Autumn – golden, sunny.
The university – hard. Texts by Chomsky, in the original English version plus classes from 8 a.m. till 6 p.m.
The scholarship – being granted from the average four hundredths above mine.
Living with my new flat mate – in harmony.
In the speakers – Boards of Canada.
Every Wednesday and Friday – English lessons with eight-year-old Michał, I guess he likes me.
Once a week – classes that make me thrill and my tummy ache.
In the evenings – a bit empty.
Before I fall asleep – irrational dreams and fantasies. And nightmares afterwards.
Satisfaction – rather not.
Bread – crumbles and isn't delivered to the grocery on Sunday.
This is how I used to imagine my studies: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yMcZEQ2sLE&feature=related
2008/10/20
2008/10/11
her name was Hattie and she chewed some bread
October, Warsaw, classes at the university. Introducing myself to all that once again:
At the Wednesday/Thursday nights I should't sleep on my right side cause my piercing hurts afterwards, which seems exceptionally irritating on Thursdays when I have classes from 8 a.m. till 7 p.m.
A new flat mate. She gets up at 6 a.m. only to have forty minutes in which to stare in the pale screen of her computer before we leave for the classes. After a week and a half I still find it bizarre.
A few interesting new lecturers. No-one has made me sob so far, though one lady, looking thirty, being fifty, has a truly mermaid-like smile.
Once, last Thursday, I burst out laughing during a break at the university; the rest of the group caught the laugh. I seem to get to like them a bit.
All that doesn't matter now. I'm at the parents' place. In the morning we went to buy three bottles of wine and some cheese, and there was a Woody Allen on tv, luckily from before his vagina-and-phallus era. A lot of warm light and too cute Samantha Morton who in 1999 already chewed bread exactly like eight years later in "Control".
Cried a little bit last night, but.
At the Wednesday/Thursday nights I should't sleep on my right side cause my piercing hurts afterwards, which seems exceptionally irritating on Thursdays when I have classes from 8 a.m. till 7 p.m.
A new flat mate. She gets up at 6 a.m. only to have forty minutes in which to stare in the pale screen of her computer before we leave for the classes. After a week and a half I still find it bizarre.
A few interesting new lecturers. No-one has made me sob so far, though one lady, looking thirty, being fifty, has a truly mermaid-like smile.
Once, last Thursday, I burst out laughing during a break at the university; the rest of the group caught the laugh. I seem to get to like them a bit.
All that doesn't matter now. I'm at the parents' place. In the morning we went to buy three bottles of wine and some cheese, and there was a Woody Allen on tv, luckily from before his vagina-and-phallus era. A lot of warm light and too cute Samantha Morton who in 1999 already chewed bread exactly like eight years later in "Control".
Cried a little bit last night, but.
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