{ now you're back inside my house again. }

I have deleted the EmoRAGE post, but thank you to the flisters who commented and indulged my pansy-ass attitude to life in general. I have woken up somewhat calmer, which helps, and I am ignoring the fact that after this paper I have another to write because, really, who needs that?

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Oh, Shilpa Shetty. On the one hand, the comments made in the BB house were disgusting and I condemn them as instinctively as I condemn all things EVIL and CRASS. But I also feel a little bit like, hey, don't want to be insulted? Don't enter yourself into a competition that involves CELEBRITY CHAVS.

--

I have spent most of my caffeine-fuelled wakefulness joining and browsing fashion comms, and listening to 90s pop - Billie Piper and Samantha Mumba, to be precise. I FEEL CHEESY AND WHOLESOME AND SEVEN YEARS OLD. Good times.

eta: As much as I still LOVE this song like something unholy but oh-so good, it's so self-contradictory. I don't quite understand the story-arc of the lyrics. Oh, 90s pop. HOW I HAVE MISSED THEE. !

{ the needle returns to the start of the song and we all sing along like before. }

As ever, fucked over the word count, but it’s basically written. I now have to type it up, add a conclusion, re-write the introduction so that it does what I need it to do and then fiddle with word and line spacing so that I can make it look more like 2,000 words as opposed to 2,500. I mean, seriously. What a bloody pain. And I didn’t even get to talk about Frantz Fanon(!) and The Battle of Algiers and the complication of language, those little wooden slips that the Magistrate finds and fabricates an explanation for... SEE? This question was such bollocks. It asked all the wrong things. And if I’d chosen the question about the body as text, that would have been insufficient, too, because the body as text is not necessarily the body as the source of resistance (which is basically what I’ve written; I’ve tried to include body as text because that’s much more interesting but STILL. See? I told you. I know this shit.) Now I have to type the mofo up. Gah.

But hey! Del Amitri! Good times!

edit: The Dad refuses to re-direct my class texts. I sent them home by accident because when I bought my semester one books, I was at home and had that set as my default address, only I forgot that when I bought this lot, so subsequently they are in D and I am in Soton and WHEN AM I SUPPOSED TO READ MY TEXTS?! I have, like, 4 days when I go home. SERIOUSLY, DAD. IT'S FREE. JUST REDIRECT. Gotschdammud.