Once again, dear blog, i turn to you from my hollowed out, gloopy pit of despair for want of a better thing to do.
No, erase that, that's absolute poppycock. There are a quadmillion better things i could be doing right now. I could take the course of pleasure, and indulge in a little chapter of Hitchhiker's GUide to the Galaxy. I could paddle in the stimulating absurd and reconstruct the taj mahal entirely from disembowelled tissue boxes. I could- (although i would have to ruminate for at least half an hour on whether it was or wasn't beyond me)- resign myself to the absolutely essential and study for the 6 tests lurking about the corner of the weekend.

It's a very deceitful word, weekend. A weekend may begin when the week ends, but it then heralds the new week's start as well.

But the thing is, i just cannot contemplate for a milisecond the very idea of expending a fraction of my pitiful energy supply towards doing something remotely constructive. A resounding chorus of groans just strike up from my numerous personalities as soon as i brush against the periphery of the concept.

And so i tottered down this bloggy path (which has become rather overgrown and weed-strangled by now); and have hence proceeded my effusion of purposeless, dry, procrastination-borne self-pity.

Like old times.

Anyway, at the moment i am studying TS Eliot. The transmission of meaning (whatever that means) from this particular faculty of literature usually has the habit of oozing in in clumped molasses, and only through the desperately-sourced aid of study guides and teachers comments (although i have to say, they do seem one and the same). Eliot though- the bohemian prince of obscurity and abstruseness- i'm actually sensing something osmosing through! What a glorious, unprecedented sensation!

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

: an extract from The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock.
Hah, i started just then to try and explain it. I was managing OK until the second word (the first was 'the'). If you want a worthwhile explanation, look it up yourself you lazy dog. You presume too much of me! Oh! I need to lay down for a while just at the strength of you presumption! someone, bring me a cool peppermint cider, quick! My ears are flapping, my tongue is licking my elbow and my eye is showing me the red gore of the inside of my socket!

*chews a cud moodily*

Do you actually know what a cud is? It's a globule of grass that has been eaten by the cow, passed through several stomachs (i think 2) and then smoothly regurgitated. It's so it can break down the tough cellulose cell wall of the plant (well, actually, so it can allow the cellulase bacteria in its stomach to break it down) and unlock maximum energy from its rather bland herbivore cuisine.
Cow = ruminant
Chew over= ruminate

'MAZING.

I wonder if the word 'amazing' has anything to do with maze.
I wonder where the word word came from.
I where from if do dum do daa do daa.

hurumph.

WISE WORDS:
"Before you criticise someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticise them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes."