The enemy

The enemy was not procrastination, nor did it sneak out of the darkness, but somehow my Monday was useless. Oh I read all day, certainly, woke up at a fairly decent hour and put my thinking cap on before anything else, and spent all morning reading about Marx. But for some reason, hours passed me by without my knowledge, and suddenly it was lunchtime, and I tried to go to the libraries but none of the books I needed were in, and I tried to keep myself running through pages and time ticked past me. This needn't make sense, indeed, little in this city does, all I know is that Monday was a bit of a bust.

I'm still feeling a lack of male friends, offended that when I make it clear that 'nothing' will happen (or rather, when they realize that this is the case) they cease to be interested. And then I think, who am I as a person? What is my value? If nothing but a sexual object, something to be desired, I should dearly hope not. But here I am, Monday night, waiting for practice to start, and getting the distinct impression that me as a friend is somehow less than desireable. There is really nothing I can do.

Yesterday was mildly more productive, but only slightly so. We don't have enough copies of the books we need to read, and every time I wander in with the best intentions, I wander out again empty-handed. I am meant to accomplish more this morning after class and three cups of coffee (my ratios improving all the time), but something tells me I will fail once again. And that is actually what I should be doing right now, finding call numbers and deciding whether to bring my lappy with me on my journey into town.

Speaking of journeys. I had a bit of a journey last night as well. Off to an exchange dinner with the Hildabeasts, I turned around and found myself abandonded with strangers, totally alone. Well, no, yes, I was. And it was so strange, knowing that I couldn't very well take myself home without completely losing all hope of anyone making the return trip, so I stayed, attempting to convince whomever I spoke to that we were capable of having a good time. And met some nice people, at least, nice at the time, but couldn't determine if I was overstaying my welcome, so I left and wandered home through the streets for half an hour, alone, wondering exactly what the secret was.

Ah, there is no secret, just Oxford, and I know that the darkness now is nothing compared to how dark seven thirty will be next week, after daylight savings time ends. Off for another cup, I have to track down some available readings and start a productive day, I want to have earned a run and maybe a nap this afternoon.