Faltering at the Finish Line

Of course, I suddenly became so interested in Peter Blazey’s biography, Screw Lose, which I settled into reading for two days. Of course. So, Sunday morning, as everyone slept and nobody made demands on my time, when I could have been finishing this fucking uni talk, – you know, it is now making me feel pathetic, even, talking about it not being finished – I lazily lay on the couch and read.

I’m more scared – pathetically, procrastinating, absurdly so – of this talk. Not sure why it has so got under my skin, but it has.

I’m faltering at the finish line. Half a semester, two assignments and one lousy talk and I'm finished. Easy.

Instead, I'm falling down. I can feel it. It feels like a train wreck already happening, from where I'm sitting.

Let’s not even talk about the fact that I didn’t even have to do this subject after all. The only alternate subject was cancelled through lack of interest when I went to enrol. But, just a week or so ago, I met my course convener who told me that it had only been cancelled for two weeks, after which support, somehow, rallied and the subject was put back on. Of course, I should have paid closer attention.

I’m drowning in this. Going down. I don’t know why. It’s a combination of a loathed subject and failing interest. This is only a ten-minute talk, for fucks sake.

I taped Idol for all of those on the last hour of Ab's film shoot.

We went to the pub for the wrap party.

I came back and watched Idol for a second time with Mark, Luke and Olivier, after the pub.

I watched Idol for a third time when the rest of the crew came back from the pub very drunk.

I went to bed at 1.30am.

And no assignment.