South Park Self

prized beyond rubies

One cannot say too much in praise of understanding friends. You've all been amazingly supportive while I've been clutching my brow in academic angst over the last few months, for which I cannot sufficiently thank you. (Although I am also left wondering at the restraint with which my immediate social circle refrains from giving me a swift kick and telling me to snap out of it, which frequently strikes me as a perfectly legitimate response).

Anyway. Last night's usual Sunday night braai was graced, as usual, by the dynamic jo&stv duo, as well as by the Friendly Psychologist and her Internet Romance, and by waaaaaay too much meat, wine, much hilarity, and the total destruction of a tray of eggs knocked accidentally to the floor by a flailing jo-elbow. It was also marked by the demonstration of jo&stv's perfect understanding of how to motivate me, as well as their insider knowledge of my absolute loathing of the twee, the chintzy and the cutesy and of bric-a-brac of any description, particularly the above. They lovingly wrapped and presented to me the following:

The accompanying note defines it as a "motivational buddy, aka the Anti-Gift". It has to sit next to my keyboard. I'm allowed to smash it utterly with a hammer when I've actually finished these book updates. So, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and wrestle Angela Carter, she says, with a new mad gleam of determination in her eye.

P.S. once, that is, I've had another cup of tea and waited for my heart to stop pounding. The builders have just accidentally dropped a bag of cement against the piece of perfunctorily-nailed hardboard which separates my study from their operations, causing it to fall suddenly on top of me with a loud thump. They appeared to find my squeak of terror somewhat amusing. Reconstructive bastards.
P.P.S. It's turning into a slightly weird day. Waiting for the kettle to boil, I wandered out into the back courtyard, as a result of which I've just had to rescue a baby praying mantis from my cleavage.
  • Current Mood: busy determined, slightly squashed
  • Current Music: Belle & Sebastian on shuffle
Anti-Gift. Heh.

So, how much more Book to go? What is the estimated time of completion on Angela Carter chapter?
reducing the irreducible
God knows. I am currently adrift on a sea of feminist criticism which threatens to swamp the frail craft of my intellect. Camel through the needle's eye, nothing. Summarising feminists is like herding cats. Tiger cats.

Gods willing and the creek don't rise, I'll finish it this week.
Egad brain, that's horrid.
My mother and a friend of hers used to have an informal contest to give each other the worst birthday presents ever, and I think that would be a contender. Of course the winner hands down was a mirror with the Voortrekker Monument printed on it, poik.
I think the crowning horror of this one is the price tag carefully left on the base. It says "R2". This means that there is absolutely no reason not to smash the thing with a hammer, other than that imposed artificially by Those Bastards who gave it to me, since it's not as if they actually spent money on it.

The subtle psychological layering will get you every time.