Portrait of the Artist as a Tired Man

I'm so tired!!!

In no small part that's due to that fact that last night I went back to fencing for the first time in approximately ten months.

I'd forgotten how tiring it was, it's not that I'm unfit now, it's just that fencing uses muscle sets that don't normally get worked in the library or Waterstone's. I got good number of hours sleep but I still woke up tired, it didn't get any better from there.

I've done a doodle of my current state as I imagine I look.

Go to bed then! I hear you cry, but you see - I can't. As I reported yesterday, I lost a story I was working on when my PC died and I've had a small spark of inspiration about how to rewrite what I'd lost so I can't rest until I've drained all the energy from that spark, otherwise it might not still be there when I wake up.

Anyway, this is a minor divergence, I'm going to go make some squash and then carry on with this story. Somewhere along the line I have to get cracking with the books for next week too: Katherine Burdekin's Swastika Night and Ursula LeGuin's Birthday of the World.

Is this going to be one of those weeks?

No, really. Is it? Let's take stock.

Having closely assessed my finances I've discovered that it's not likely I'll run into a deficit before I graduate it's a damn certainty and with a request being put in with the bank of mum and dad for help with the £300 deposit I have to put down on my house for next year this week I can't justify asking them for more money.

With such financial drains I've had to pull out of the Glasgow Open, the great fencing trip to Glasgow that is always a highlight of my calender and has been an Easter-ish time tradition the last two years. This is particularly frustrating as I wanted us to win Best Club there this year which obviously would have been particularly important to me as the Club Captain.I'm staying in Liverpool overtime to work on my dissertation. Yesterday my laptop shut itself off whilst I was working and I've lost not only 300 words of the draft but around twelve pages of research that was painfully squeezed out of the internet connection which is also fluctuating between dead and snail's pace at the moment.

Everyone's gone home now except Jon and it's at times like these when I realise how much I've changed. In years gone by (quite a time ago) I had no problems with my own company and would quite happily watch a DVD, play a game, read a book, write just spend time with myself and be happy. These days I find myself craving just a chat over a cup of tea or a ten minute bantering session with someone. I suppose its a change for the best - it shows how I've developed as a social creature and improved my communication skills to the Nth degree, does make you feel quite lonely at times though.

Given the laptop unreliability and the crappy internet I'm considering relocating to the library. At least there I can people watch for a while. The only hassle is carting off the quite considerably pile of books that I've accumulated around this dissertation - many of which are actually my own property now not library books.

On the plus sides I had a good day of rugby yesterday and whilst after 40 minutes of Wales doing what Wales do best (keeping Welsh fans scared) I was petrified it was going to be a very bad day for the Celts (Scotland and Ireland both losing their matches). The boyos pulled through and the Grand Slam cheer went up. For the record I dared to believe in them from the start! I've also recovered from my flu, my immune system beating it down to just a very annoying cold now. That in itself is a miracle given my current sleep deprived, malnourished state.

Where was I, oh yeah - so I'm poor, my laptop is playing up, the internet is playing up, my dissertation isn't going greatly and what work I'm doing is being sabotaged by Gremlins. The majority of people have gone away and left me. I'm going to have to job hunt straight after Easter is over - when hopefully my dissertation is at least fully drafted.
I'm considering packing it all in, job, uni, house, life and putting on my warmest layers, grabbing a few good pens and some pads and bumming my way around the UK as a writer-tramp (George Orwell did it!!!). Well okay, maybe I'm not THAT down but sometimes with a whole week of monotony ahead of you its hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel and not imagine an oncoming train or a psycho with a flamethrower.

Man of Broken Steel

Superman, the Man of Steel, the very epitome of a hero, a super hero. For all the garish colours of his costume and the more than slightly camp underpants outside the tights he is the very example of human strength and honour, all the more ironic for the fact he is in fact an alien on our planet.

There's something magical about Superman, I mean apart from the powers, he sings something to the heart. Someone once said that you could take a handful of symbols into the deepest darkest jungle and they'd be recognised: the Christian Cross, the McDonalds "M", the USA Flag and Superman's "S".

John Williams' score the original Superman films is an amazing piece of music and putting my costume on whilst the music filled my room, I felt like I could fly - a dangerous thing being on the third floor.

Fencer's don't have the best AU night record but this Wednesday we had a really great night and a reasonable turn out. I have to come up with a viable theme for next month now (suggestions on the back of a postcard). I have to report I was in severe pain the following morning.

Somewhere in the course of last week I took a tumble and sprained my wrist, gained a lump on my head, a sore knee and an aching side. Of all of those injuries my side is still hurting, one rib in particular and I can only assume that I have either broken it or at the very least fractured it. Not a lot you can do about a damaged rib but oh the pain of going from the man of steel one night to an old man who can't even sit up in bed the following morning.

Bloody thing still hurts, but we get by. Might have to cut down on the flying for now though...

You.... Wouldn't like me when I'm angry

Oh it makes me MAAAAD!

I'm still waiting for a parcel to emerge from the quagmire that is Liverpool's Royal Mail sorting office. Now, I'm a relatively patient person but this time I actually NEED the contents of the parcel.

Rather than being some Amazon order or something like that which is just for pleasure this package contains several personal documents and items of post forwarded onto me from home but crucially it also contains my young persons rail card which I need to get a discount on the many train journeys I have planned in the coming weeks.

Most urgent of these journeys is the away match at Manchester that I'll be taking part in. The AU (Athletic's Union) in Liverpool only reimburse travel to matches where you pay with a YP Railcard so unless I get it by Wednesday I could be funding the expedition out of my own pocket which is not something I will do without a great deal of moaning, whinging and general grumbling.

Rage..... Building..... Glyn..... Smash!