We call it neglect.

Neglect. Ignoring important things – people that matter, bills, coursework, maintaining a semblance of organization in my room…the month of October in general.

You could call it fail, too, but that’s a bit rough, and would be a bad way to try and catch up on over a month of not writing. Over a month! Fuck it. We call that failure.

The Month of October:

1. The Death of Reggie. This is a recent occurrence…I believe he died a whole three days ago. I was on my way home from glorious Esme’s with a certain Miss Clements in tow when I decided that a particular gorgeous tree, wrapped in fog and splashed with streetside lamplight, would make an awesome photo. Sans camera, out came Reggie, and what do you know…that was the last I saw of him. Did I put him back in my purse? Did I accidentally slip him past my purse and not hear him hit the ground? Did he jump out a few minutes later when Laura and I decided to run for all of fifty feet? God only knows, but the end is the same. Reggie is dead, and now I have Horatio – a modular downgrade, but we’re hoping an inability-to-get-lost upgrade – and life is good again.

2. A Slew of LCR’s That, Though Thematically Similar to Those of Last Year, Were Definitely Not As Good. Now, this event is pretty self-explanatory. I’m not saying I haven’t had any fun this year – far from it – but it’s definitely not going down the way shit flew this time last year. I didn’t really expect a repeat of the awesomeness of Action Man, School Daze, and the like…but I won’t lie: the LCR, when not packed with three essential Australians, one Maggie McBride, and the entirety of D5 in one orgy of awesomeness, is just not the same. Still fun, and chock full of double vodka Redbulls and the folks that have had one too many – but not the same. Rave on!

3. The Gradual Digression of My Room Into a State of Chaos. Towards the end of September, my room still maintained a shred of identifiable dignity. No longer. Total, we’re looking at one square foot of uncovered floorspace, and my drying laundry hanging on shelves, doors, and desktop until it gets worn and tossed groundward. The three guys I live with are quickly learning that communal spaces can’t really exist without some part of my wardrobe inhabiting them.

4. Classes With One Of My Favorite Teachers Ever. (That would be Joad Raymond.) Legend! I don’t really understand what goes on in 17th Century Writing a lot of the time, but Joad is nice enough to smile and nod when I say things that make absolutely no sense. Like, I don’t know, when I relate the Pastoral movement of Fantasia to a stanza in a John Milton poem. Me and Milton, we don’t really jive. At least thus far in my life, seeing as every time I try and talk about him or something he’s written in a seminar, I end up looking like a complete idiot (i.e. using the word “dude” while paraphrasing Paradise Lost).  So yeah, Joad is amazing.

5. The Ludicrously Beautiful Transformation of Summeresque Norwich into Norwich in the Fall. Maybe it’s because I lived on campus last year and didn’t constantly see so much of the city…but I swear, I never noticed how incredibly beautiful this city is in the fall. Every single leaf is in the gorgeous process of death. That sounds morbid, but maybe slightly poetic? It’s true either way. The trees here are on fire and it’s amazing. Most every time I walk home from work I’m inspired to photograph some part of the journey. That is, when I’m not wearing the Boots of Death and falling on my ass while crossing cross-walks in front of loads of cars. But Norwich in the fall – or autumn, as I’m regularly corrected on this side of the Atlantic – makes me wish that life was a constant Renaissance Faire. I know that sounds like the most random feeling ever, but it’s true. The amazing costumes and drunkeness and endless amount of character that is a ren faire PLUS the gorgeous goldenosity of autumn in this city? I can’t really think of much that would be more amazing.

Speaking of not really being able to think, I’m at a loss mentioning anything interesting that’s happened over the past neglected month. How sad is that? I really should learn my lesson and just not not write for absolute ages at a time. Hardly does anything for my readership, I’m sure.

Completely off topic, but hopefully the kind of interesting something that will keep you clicking back for more, the online game Winterbells (http://www.ferryhalim.com/orisinal/g3/bells.htm) is amazing. Seriously. I have spent more time than I like to acknowledge playing that game, studiously ignoring mounds of coursework. I’m even struggling as I type this to not to hit ctrl + t and open it up in a new tab for a few rounds. I am so lame. Give it a whirl though – in the Christmas spirit! (As somebody who lives in a country that doesn’t wait till the day after Thanksgiving to slather the mall in Christmas decorations, I’m allowed to encourage this).

I am officially coming home for Christmas break! Which is only 47 days away. HOLY SHIT, where does the time go. At this rate I will be violently hurled into the real world and all of the bill-y and career-y and debt-y stuff thus included in about, oh, two days. That is most definitely what it feels like…meaning I should probably get going on that manuscript I’ve promised myself I’ll have finished by the time I graduate. Ah, having the will power to work on the same story for more than twenty pages. I bet that feels awesome. I certainly wouldn’t know.

One thing I do know, once again, completely unrelated, is that I never thought I would drink beer by choice. My whole drinking life it has been disgusting and people have insisted that eventually I will acquire the taste and I have insisted right back at them that no, I will never enjoy the taste of carbonated urine. And then you have me now. Me, who, thanks to a weekly soup-and-beer-centered meeting with Esme and Laura, randomly has the urge to have a beer with dinner. WHAT HAPPENED. I blame Esme and Laura. And living with boys.

Boys who, up until about two weeks ago, loved to do nothing more than complain about how much I shed (to be fair, it was a rather beastly amount). Why don’t they complain anymore, you ask? Because I chopped all of my hair off and am, once again, a pixie! This time, I carry it off a whole lot better and look more stylish than boyish, which was the unfortunate result of the last pixie-esque cut back in my junior year of high school. So yay for whims (Eleanor, that’s you!) and Callum the amazing hairdresser and basically life in general, because no matter how much I procrastinate or neglect or whine or do anything, life is awesome.

Yeah. Top five things I need to remember: Life is awesome.

(And yes, I know that’s not five things.)



2 Responses to “We call it neglect.”

  1. 1 Maggie!!!! November 3, 2009 at 7:38 am

    blaaaaaah I miss autumn Norwich. And you. And David Milne (what?).

    Also, it doesn’t have to be a novel… you can write a staggeringly beautiful collection of short stories (see: Dubliners). I could never write anything more than twenty pages, either. It just means readers get a more concentrated dose of awesome.

  2. 2 Prue =) November 5, 2009 at 10:25 pm

    i was about to say i want my life to pause in autumn and it stay that way then i remembered the beach in summer and playing in the snow.. but whats so good about spring?? i do not know, maybe ill ask if we can skip spring this year

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photo cred to myself and Maggie J. Moxie

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