It’s living the dream. Don’t needa get up earlier than eight. Get to learn about culture, writing and talk about last night’s episode of The Voice. (Why? I’m not sure. But my house-mate hardly moved from the seat from 7.30 to 10pm the other night. “I can’t stop watching!”) There’s some great people. Interesting, funny, smart. I feel so happy to know them, call a handful my good friends.
Week 9. Means week 12 ain’t far away baby. The pump starts. Shoulders sag. I go to the library and see a uni student sleeping on top of her books. This is uni life. On a good day three hundred words an hour spin out of my fingers. Novel-writing, essays, books. I love it I love it I do. But.. I obsess. This word or that word? This is shit. A lecture with a writer the other week spoke about how writing is physically draining on your body. The stress of it.
My shoulders are stiff. My heart-rate is through the roof. How can something you love be so bad for you? “Everything in moderation.” I suppose. But I need to get it done, done. But there’s a world outside the window, a world outside my head. It’s raining you know? It’s freezing. The trains aren’t running on time. My dog is sleeping on his little basket. He’s not worried about uni. I envy him.