It all boils down to one question really. That's what i realise right now, staring down glumly at my scattered sheets on WA hydrology and soil and the virtues of dung and stuff. Yes, one single question. 'Can I be stuffed.'
No. No i cannot.
A little while ago, i exited my habitual study den and braved the outside elements. Embraced Spring! Well, if you go by date that is. It don't really feel like Spring at this first, fragile turn of season. Yet my hopes have been lifted. It's the opposite of the feeling of impending doom as Autumn withers itself away. From winter to spring is an upward swing, a glorious waxing into sunshine and the bliss of the warmer months. It's all about the anticipation.
Dusk is my favourite time of day i reckon. Everything is so soft-hued and purply. And the clouds! Pink, drifting, golden-gilded. There's a downward sloping alleyway not far from my house and it's almost a spiritual feeling walking down and getting the panoramic view of the humming suburban life being crowned by that radiant disc.
The mood is catching! I saw an old, white-bearded man in dark glasses on a bicycle, playing the harmonica with one hand.
I think i needed Nature's remedial touch after the humiliating state of affairs this morning. You may know by now that i have an incredibly bad memory. My past just drains away. It's rather terrifying really, this things that are lost forever in the chasm of forgotten. Anyway, i have this theory (probably a conceit) to rationalise this poor memory. It's a survival strategy. It prevents me from flinching and squirming myself to death; since i do so for almost every social encounter i've ever had. WHY MUST MY LOOKING BACK BE THROUGH A PESSIMISTIC GLASS? Well, to it. The latest faux pas:
I'm walking towards the lecture theatre for WS. I'm about 10 steps away when i see a girl i've been sitting with so far this semester. She's with 2 other girls and is just about to go through the door. Our eyes meet. 'Hey!' she says. 'Hey!' i say. She goes in with her posse. I trail in behind. As i enter, she sits down in the last row, on the end seat to the left. Naturally, her two friends fill in the 2 seats right of her.
I have 2 options. They flash through my mind in that brief hiatus of indecision, and i teeter on the question of 'what now?'. I can
a) locate a seat alone away from them
b) sit down in the 4th seat to the right.
In the first option, reason is enshrined; risk and madness in the second. Reader, when such a conflict of choice rages within me, i fear to confess reason is sat upon and suffocated by panic and immediacy. Unfailingly, i just give way to whichever course of action will be quicker, requiring less movement.
...
I sunk into the 4th seat.
FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!! And what's more, i could not, dared not even turn my head to the left, let alone TRY to engage. I felt as though the muscles in my neck were locked. Or rather, that they had fused to muscles lower down, and i would only ever in the future be able to look left by swivelling my torso.
Instead, i calmly opened uwa's student mag, The Pelican, and endeavoured to read an article whilst wishing will able my being just to evaporate. Shrivel in my seat. Become a gas and deftly waft myself under the crack in the door.
When the lecture was over, i fled. Missing the workshop that immediately followed. But this time, there was no conflict of choice. Escape was the only option.
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