delga | { a kind of sweet chanticleer. }

So, near the top end of every month I unconsciously (well, I guess it's conscious now because I realise that I do it) have a moment of "in one month's time I'll be..." Except March is always fantastic because in one month's time I'll be in the middle of Easter break. Huzz. (April, verily, sucks somewhat.)

The copy of Labyrinths (an anthology of Borges' works featuring, well, labyrinths) that I placed on hold at Winchester library turned up yesterday. This book looks like it's been eaten by a whale, regurgitated, eaten by a vulture, regurgitated, then taped together by a five year old. And I only need it for four references, heh. I'm a little concerned about the bibliography for my dissertation because I don't have a lot on there. I don't want to pad it because I don't see the sense in putting something in the bibliography that (a) I haven't actually read and (b) I haven't use in any way in my work. It's not even like I can use a lot of texts for what I'm doing. Possibly I need to find more literature on postmodern lit. but I don't know. (Lyotard is pretty fucking definitive.) So, yeah, in terms of my critical background, I am flailing somewhat, with 800 words left. (Probably 1k, actually, once I cut out the repeated bs.) Possibly at this juncture I need to call in favours from my secondry school tutors.

Tangentially, we're doing class presentations in Traditions in Poetry. I signed up for Milton (irony, irony). Later today, when I come back from another careers' talk (CVs, I think? I don't know, T wants company) I have to write a ballade for that class, too. So. All go, natch.

Today I woke up and thought, fuck it, I'll plait my hair. So I did. Earrings, yay.