David Crystal and me

Have taken the morning off to finish this bloody essay about the historical development of the English language. I have really struggled with it. I can feel myself slipping back into my old patterns of not being able to finish anything because I put too much pressure on myself to write the best fecking essays ever written... My problem with this essay is twofold: I find the subject really interesting and haven't had any problems grasping the ideas and facts; I have for some reason decided that I want a higher grade for this unit - pass is not enough.
I have given myself a little break now to try and coach myself not to freak out. My thoughts are going something like this: "buck up Sabina, you can do this! Don't worry so much, just write the bloody thing and be happy with whatever grade you get! It's not worth driving yourself to insanity over a merit or distinction!"
So back to Caxton, Johnson and co!

Like Christmas come early!

I just got my first Christmas present for this year. My lovely employers bought me a printer!

The world of academia

Today I handed in my first essay. I've handed stuff in before but they have been either drafts or just part of units. This was my first unit assignment, the thing that will determine the grade I get for the Modern Drama unit in literature.
I had forgotten how nerve wracking these things are!
It's a good feeling to have gotten it done though!

Under Pressure

You Don't Have to Be Pretty. You don't owe prettiness to anyone. Not to your boyfriend/spouse/partner, not to your co-workers, especially not to random men on the street. You don't owe it to your mother, you don't owe it to your children, you don't owe it to civilization in general. Prettiness is not a rent you pay for occupying a space marked "female".

 Erin McKean

from  A dress a day  via the awesome Whinar

The weekend begins here

It's 5.20 am and I'm in a cab on my way to the airport. I'm going to Sweden for the weekend because tonight is the release party for Tender Hooligans' debut album. And it just so happens that the lead singer of, and musical genius behind, Tender Hooligans is my brother.
So I get up at 4.15, drink a cup of tea, try to resist the urge to throw up and travel to my hometown to support him. And to tear it up with the rest of the hooligan crew!
Rock on, I say. Rock on!

This is the 21st century right?

Two things:

Yesterday I was watching Prime Minister's Questions and a female MP asked David Cameron about the fact that so many women voters are unhappy with the government. Cameron's reply? Something about the financial climate affecting household finances. Supposedly this is why women don't like the coalition government. Because that's all we do and all we care about: keeping house and home.

Apparently it is of utmost importance that we are able to tell if it's women in the boxing ring, or men. And the way to accomplish that is for female boxers to wear a skirt. A skirt! While boxing!

Sometimes I despair.

Right here. Right now.

This was written last night. Apparently something went wrong and it wasn't posted. I'm re-posting it now 'cause I can't be arsed to write a new post. As for the personal statement, so far I have listened to some Swedish radio documentaries and made chili jam. So it's going well!

Living in a house where a teenage girl also dwells can mean a lot of shouting.
Luckily I'm not involved. (Only if I'm working, but even that is rare. She seems to reserve it all for her mum.) I'm cocooned in my duvet, in my bed, in my room, with my book. And it can actually be quite entertaining! (Yes I am heartless.) Listening to mother and teenage daughter having a shouting match across the floors of the house. And I can sympathise with both of them.

I don't remember shouting that much at my mum when I was young. Did I? And I'm pretty sure I didn't call her horrible names. If I did, forgive me mum.
In fairness, all I can really remember of my teenage years is deep, dark, seemingly never ending depression, self-loathing and self-harming. So maybe it wasn't your average, garden variety youth.

Tomorrow I'm going to write the first draft of my personal statement which is due soon. For my university application. Well, it's not due for my application. Still have a month or so for that. It's due for school.
Anyway, I've put it on here now. That means I have to do it. Or live with the shame.
Not really, but I do need a kick up the bum and I'm hoping putting it in writing will help.
Now it's like I have a contract with the internet!