He could not ope
His mouth, but out flew a Trope:
And when he happend to break off
In the middle of his speech, or cough,
He had hard words ready, to shew why,
And tell what rules he did it by.

(Hudibras, Book I, Canto I)

It has been a very eventful week. It ended with a friends birthday dinner which I didn’t really want to go to. I was tired and while I would have known lots of people there, I wasn’t really good friends with any of them. Good reasons not to go in my opinion. I went. I made myself, I knew that I would be perfectly happy to stay home, but that I would also be perfectly happy going out when I eventually got there. So I dressed up a little. I love getting ready. The hairdryer, the radio, picking the clothes. Is it ok, to much, to dressy, to casual. Love it. Perfect outfit, not so perfect straightened hair and I was ready. I was early and so was a lovely lady who I would prefer not to spend to much time with at all. Even with a large group of friends to buffer her. She’s lovely and loves to talk, mostly about herself. We’ll leave it at that I think. So everyone arrived and it was lovely and they all had a good time. I’m afraid I don’t really like social gatherings like that. Not very much makes me uncomfortable so I was fine in that regard, but it was just a little boring. Kinda mundane conversations about boys and sex and football. I couldn’t really care less. I ate and had a drink (bleh, red wine is still horrible even though I’m 25 now and should have ‘developed’ tastebuds) and sat by myself being talked at by a drunk homosexual with boyfriend issues and a receding hair line (I also just don’t understand how you can have boyfriend issues with someone you have dated twice and not had sex with, though I guess it’s not the sex so much as the fact they only met twice!!). I ate my thai and watched video clips and looked at hot American boys who all lined up in front of me to watch the football on the big screen behind me. Then I went home and decided that despite how much I might like and respect someone whose birthday it is, I won’t be going to a gathering to socialise any time soon. I guess I’ll still be going to gatherings though, ‘do unto others’, and I’d hate to have a dinner and no one show up.

On the subject of friends and the things you may or may not be willing to put up with from them (or for them), I’ll add that some friends are just wonderful. Thoughtfulness is less common in today’s society, or so I observe. When someone is thoughtful, depending on who they are, most people are very surprised and delighted. Makes me wonder why more people aren’t thoughtful, but also shows that we just don’t expect it anymore. Not that it would be socially acceptable to ‘expect’ someone to be thoughtful towards you, but you understand what I mean (and if you don’t, to bad). I am going through a phase of ‘nicety’. I was talking to a friend (the one who had the birthday incidentally) and she mentioned her partner. She couldn’t tell me what she liked about him. It made me think of what people do to make people like them, or love them even. What had he done to make her love him. What did she do to make him love her. Perhaps it’s just who she/he is, but surely there was something that someone in the relationship had done in the past for the other to be able to say, ‘I love you (for that)”. Seemed there wasn’t, or not that she could recall. When pressed, how many people would be able to say what they loved about their partner? I am off track, back to my friend. My friend, who I haven’t known for a very long time, sent me some videos. He knows that I am doing Writing at uni, and he works for a broadcasting company. He found some videos about ‘Writers Writing’ and mailed them to me. His thoughtfulness goes further then that though. He only had some of the videos and had to order the others remade so he could mail me the whole set. Now issues of honesty aside, this was a lovely and thoughtful gesture. Any type of association with an activity you would do that is realised by a friend and linked with something that they have, to the point of them sending it to you is, seriously, uncommon. It’s wonderful. It leaves you with a warm (I won’t complete the cliché cause I didn’t really feel fuzzy) and considered feeling. Again I repeat, why don’t more people do such things? Why don’t you? Why don’t I? I admit to rarely noticing moments when I can be thoughtful towards someone, but after this week especially, I am actively on the look out for them.

Along with gestures of sweeping consideration from friends and self realisations about my feelings at social events, I learnt a lot about rhetoric this week. ‘Protagoras and the Origins of Rhetoric’ (by Michael Billig) was one of my readings and it was actually pretty good. Most heavy duty reading is a bit of a slog, but this was well constructed and very easy to read and understand. It was also good to read because it fit in nicely with a good example of writing for my professional writing subject. I’m fast learning what is and what isn’t good reading. Hopefully I will be able to learn how to write good writing.

It's raining and my shoes leak.

What do you do when you have a bad day? What consititues a bad day? I've had a few bad days this week. Things that no one would want to happen to them, has happened to me. I complained about it. Then I found out that someones father had died. He was 92, but he died. So my day wasn't as bad as that, and I didn't complain about it again. Well today was worse then that day. That day I wanted to cry. I didn't want to cry but I did want to curl up and go to sleep with my gran looking after me. Last time I wanted that, I had had an operation. It was a bad day. No one died though and I guess that makes all the difference.

When you want to complain, think how you would feel if your loved one died. Then you probably won't complain.

Our uni has what is called a 'blackboard' site for interactions with the lecturers, tutors and students. On my poetics site we are provided with a poem a day. Makes me wonder how much time some lecturers have. This is todays poem. I never realised that a poem could make you become the 'character' in the poem. Kinda like in a novel. I was impressed.

The Hand
The teacher asks a question.
You know the answer, you suspect
you are the only one in the classroom
who knows the answer, because the person
in question is yourself, and on that
you are the greatest living authority,
but you don’t raise your hand.
You raise the top of your desk
and take out an apple.
You look out the window.
You don’t raise your hand and there is
some essential beauty in your fingers,
which aren’t even drumming, but lie
flat and peaceful.
The teacher repeats the question.
Outside the window, on an overhanging branch,
a robin is ruffling its feathers
and spring is in the air.


by Mary Ruefle from Cold Pluto, 1996, 2001
Carnegie Mellon University Press