"You only think about yourself
You only think about yourself
You better bend before I go
On the first train to Mexico..."
So it’s been exam time. And at this time more than any of the University cycle, it seems people are very much “for” themselves. I’m sitting in Info Commons right now, and behind me are two computer niches which were being “reserved” with bags. Not only is this not actually allowed, it’s blatantly inconsiderate... and it’s not allowed BECAUSE it’s blatantly inconsiderate.
I sat down at my computer about 20 minutes ago, and in that whole time nobody came to claim the bags left on the desks. An Indian girl just came up to me looking harassed and worried, and asked me if anyone was sitting there. I told her I hadn’t seen anyone around there for quite a while, and we had a little rant-party about people who leave their belongings at a computer desk and go get food (among other things) when it’s exam time and so many people are waiting for a computer. Now I’m her witness for if the person comes back and gets pissed off.
I mean, I’m not that much better- look at me, it’s exam time and I’m sitting here writing on a blog when there’s probably someone desperate for a computer to research some obscure essay topic... but at least I do what I want to do as fast as I can, and I don’t leave my stuff and walk away any further than to a printer. Some people actually do “reserve” a computer and then go buy food, have lunch and come back expecting that they can just sit down and go on their facebook. The number of worried faces I can see pacing back and forth in this room! What can those people be thinking? Don’t they feel bad about it? At the very least they should be worried about someone making off with their stuff. If you wait long enough, especially with the apathetic society that we have going on at Auckland Uni, nobody is going to be bothered or be sure enough of themselves to stop a stranger making off with your stuff. They’re just going to think that stranger is you.
And I don’t mean to be judgemental or racist, but a lot of the time the bags left are those fancy Gucci/Guess or some imitation of the above type... and the books left are written in some Asian language... and you just KNOW they’re going to belong to some stick-thin fashion-obsessed chick... likely to be Chinese/Japanese/Korean. And I have actually seen this in person, I’m not just assuming. Is it a cultural thing? Is it because of the attitude of the countries that these people have come from? I have so so many Chinese or Korean friends and they are the nicest people ever, but most of them have been in N.Z. quite a while... most of their lives, usually. Are Kiwis just more self-sacrificing than other nationalities? Or are Asians just more self-centered?
Oh dear, this is sounding racist. But I’m not meaning to judge... I’m just making observations.
It has now been over half an hour since I first sat down here, and still the owners of the bags have not returned. Who do they think they are?!
Showing posts with label procrastination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label procrastination. Show all posts
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Pressurecooker
"Procrastination paralysing me
Wanting me dead..."
I hate my inability to work without time-pressure. It started creeping up on me in 6th form and now, through the encouragement and example of pretty much everyone at Uni, it has morphed into its final form.
Whatever happened to the little girl in primary school who used to panic and crack under pressure, who used to have mental breakdowns and freak out? I even remember discussing it with mum, at the age of maybe 8 or 9. I said to her, "I don't work well under pressure, do I?"
Now... I don't know if it's because of the many other things around me to distract me from schoolwork, or the fact that I am no longer afraid of my mother catching me slacking off, or just the general sense of student apathy that permeates every aspect of University, but I am currently sitting at my laptop Toshie, staring at an essay question about Alice in Wonderland which I must write 1800 words on in the next 2 and a half days... of which there are really only about five hours of free time to write the thing. I know that if I was five straight hours out from the time that it's due, I'd be working frantically and productively and probably doing quite well. But because I have all those days inbetween now and then... I just can't do it...
Wanting me dead..."
I hate my inability to work without time-pressure. It started creeping up on me in 6th form and now, through the encouragement and example of pretty much everyone at Uni, it has morphed into its final form.
Whatever happened to the little girl in primary school who used to panic and crack under pressure, who used to have mental breakdowns and freak out? I even remember discussing it with mum, at the age of maybe 8 or 9. I said to her, "I don't work well under pressure, do I?"
Now... I don't know if it's because of the many other things around me to distract me from schoolwork, or the fact that I am no longer afraid of my mother catching me slacking off, or just the general sense of student apathy that permeates every aspect of University, but I am currently sitting at my laptop Toshie, staring at an essay question about Alice in Wonderland which I must write 1800 words on in the next 2 and a half days... of which there are really only about five hours of free time to write the thing. I know that if I was five straight hours out from the time that it's due, I'd be working frantically and productively and probably doing quite well. But because I have all those days inbetween now and then... I just can't do it...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Think
"Hello, I've waited here for you
Everlong
Tonight I throw myself into
And out of the red
Out of her head, she sang..."
He got me a fan. From Spain. It's plain blond wood and cream fabric.
He handed it to me and said, "For you! From Barcelona!"
I said, "For me?! Ohhhhhh Tam!"
He said "It was the only one which didn't have some tacky design on it."
I felt like kissing him.
It's one thing to get someone a souvenir, it's another thing entirely to actually hunt for one that the person will actually love.
Not everyone got a souvenir. But I did.
It makes me want to cry when people put effort into things like that and actually think about you.
I cried on my birthday, because of Jared's present. He got me a gray soft toy bunny rabbit which looked just like Wallace, because he knows what Wallace looks like, and a nice silver ring from Pascoes, because I'd said that I wanted a ring to remind me of him, and a homemade Dream Theater t-shirt with my favourite lyric on it. He listened.
Thoughtfulness is one of the most amazing things in the world.
That's why it is horrible how my parents no longer try and guess what I want for Christmas or my birthday. Because it means that they no longer know me or really care enough about me to know what I want.
The weird thing is that I say that I hate surprises. But what I really hate is when someone goes, "I have a surprise for you!" and then won't tell you what it is. I love surprises when I have no idea that they're even coming.
Like the fan.
Everlong
Tonight I throw myself into
And out of the red
Out of her head, she sang..."
He got me a fan. From Spain. It's plain blond wood and cream fabric.
He handed it to me and said, "For you! From Barcelona!"
I said, "For me?! Ohhhhhh Tam!"
He said "It was the only one which didn't have some tacky design on it."
I felt like kissing him.
It's one thing to get someone a souvenir, it's another thing entirely to actually hunt for one that the person will actually love.
Not everyone got a souvenir. But I did.
It makes me want to cry when people put effort into things like that and actually think about you.
I cried on my birthday, because of Jared's present. He got me a gray soft toy bunny rabbit which looked just like Wallace, because he knows what Wallace looks like, and a nice silver ring from Pascoes, because I'd said that I wanted a ring to remind me of him, and a homemade Dream Theater t-shirt with my favourite lyric on it. He listened.
Thoughtfulness is one of the most amazing things in the world.
That's why it is horrible how my parents no longer try and guess what I want for Christmas or my birthday. Because it means that they no longer know me or really care enough about me to know what I want.
The weird thing is that I say that I hate surprises. But what I really hate is when someone goes, "I have a surprise for you!" and then won't tell you what it is. I love surprises when I have no idea that they're even coming.
Like the fan.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Scarred
"I miss who we were
In the town that we could call our own
Going back to get away
After everything has changed."
I just read over my blogs so far and something kinda struck me. I'm much better at writing about internal drama... emotional accidents and things... than physical things like my accident in Christchurch.
My grandma is over right now and of course we had to explain to her what had happened to me. I started trying to tell her but the more I talked, the less sense I made and the more the story I was telling disturbed me. Mum had to take over. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me to recount what happened. I guess that I had spent so long pretending that it hadn't happened that admitting to myself that it had was terrifying. I couldn't read the blog that I wrote about it here, either. I suppose this is what the phrase "scarred for life" really means. Not necessarily something you think about all the time, but something you try not to think about because it frightens you so much when you do.
After the accident, Dad said that he hoped that it wouldn't stop me being adventurous and fearless like I was before. I'm not sure whether it will or not... I might go back to the snow, but I am never going to Porter's Pass again.
The boy- ex-Shadowboy- is coming back to Auckland next Thursday. I can't wait to greet him at the airport with all of our friends! But the funny thing is that I feel so different. Once upon a time my heart would have LEAPED with hope and happiness and so on... now that he's just my friend, it's just a comfortable warmth, a passive feeling of rightness. I'm not used to a feeling like that. I suppose it's really good because it means that cutting my inappropriate ties to him has worked and healed. But I won't know how I really feel until I see him.
I was talking to a friend of mine- the one who betrayed me earlier- the other day and I started describing his writing style to him, how it wasn't like I expected. I had expected more mist and illusion and confusion, whereas his style was more solid and... meaty. Practical. No mystery, just straight storytelling. He said, "mist and illusion have nothing to do with telling a story". But I disagree. The way you write something has a HUGE impact on the experience of the reader.
This is a bit of a weird entry because I'm basically waiting until I have to leave for my English 121 exam, and filling up the time with writing. I have a feeling that the things I have said so far are all little seeds of future entries or lines of thought that will develop later into fully fledged rants. I just wanted to get them down before they sunk into the torpid swamp of writing an essay this afternoon.
In the town that we could call our own
Going back to get away
After everything has changed."
I just read over my blogs so far and something kinda struck me. I'm much better at writing about internal drama... emotional accidents and things... than physical things like my accident in Christchurch.
My grandma is over right now and of course we had to explain to her what had happened to me. I started trying to tell her but the more I talked, the less sense I made and the more the story I was telling disturbed me. Mum had to take over. I couldn't believe how much it bothered me to recount what happened. I guess that I had spent so long pretending that it hadn't happened that admitting to myself that it had was terrifying. I couldn't read the blog that I wrote about it here, either. I suppose this is what the phrase "scarred for life" really means. Not necessarily something you think about all the time, but something you try not to think about because it frightens you so much when you do.
After the accident, Dad said that he hoped that it wouldn't stop me being adventurous and fearless like I was before. I'm not sure whether it will or not... I might go back to the snow, but I am never going to Porter's Pass again.
The boy- ex-Shadowboy- is coming back to Auckland next Thursday. I can't wait to greet him at the airport with all of our friends! But the funny thing is that I feel so different. Once upon a time my heart would have LEAPED with hope and happiness and so on... now that he's just my friend, it's just a comfortable warmth, a passive feeling of rightness. I'm not used to a feeling like that. I suppose it's really good because it means that cutting my inappropriate ties to him has worked and healed. But I won't know how I really feel until I see him.
I was talking to a friend of mine- the one who betrayed me earlier- the other day and I started describing his writing style to him, how it wasn't like I expected. I had expected more mist and illusion and confusion, whereas his style was more solid and... meaty. Practical. No mystery, just straight storytelling. He said, "mist and illusion have nothing to do with telling a story". But I disagree. The way you write something has a HUGE impact on the experience of the reader.
This is a bit of a weird entry because I'm basically waiting until I have to leave for my English 121 exam, and filling up the time with writing. I have a feeling that the things I have said so far are all little seeds of future entries or lines of thought that will develop later into fully fledged rants. I just wanted to get them down before they sunk into the torpid swamp of writing an essay this afternoon.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Answer
"Think of me when you're out, when you're out there
I'll beg you nice, from my knees
And when the world treats you way too fairly
Well it's a shame I'm a dream
All I wanted was you..."
Today I lay on my bed and stared out the window as a cloud turned into a dragon, then to a dog, then to a mouse, and then disintegrated like candyfloss.
As I watched I was thinking:
"Why doesn't anybody think before they speak?"
"Am I not allowed to have a moment of weakness? A moment of insecurity?"
"Don't I deserve to have that insecurity vanquished?"
"Do I always have to be the strong one?"
"What do you do when your body and mind are fully rested, but your soul is exhausted?"
"Does anyone really know how I feel?"
"If not, then where do I go to get the answer?"
"In trying to stop beating myself up all the time, have I gone the opposite way? Do I now think I'm better- kinder, prettier, more fun, more patient, more thoughtful, more selfless- than I really am?"
"Why do I get so insecure?"
"What is wrong with me?!"
I'll beg you nice, from my knees
And when the world treats you way too fairly
Well it's a shame I'm a dream
All I wanted was you..."
Today I lay on my bed and stared out the window as a cloud turned into a dragon, then to a dog, then to a mouse, and then disintegrated like candyfloss.
As I watched I was thinking:
"Why doesn't anybody think before they speak?"
"Am I not allowed to have a moment of weakness? A moment of insecurity?"
"Don't I deserve to have that insecurity vanquished?"
"Do I always have to be the strong one?"
"What do you do when your body and mind are fully rested, but your soul is exhausted?"
"Does anyone really know how I feel?"
"If not, then where do I go to get the answer?"
"In trying to stop beating myself up all the time, have I gone the opposite way? Do I now think I'm better- kinder, prettier, more fun, more patient, more thoughtful, more selfless- than I really am?"
"Why do I get so insecure?"
"What is wrong with me?!"
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Paranoia
"All wound up, on the edge, terrified
Sleep disturbed, restless mind, petrified
Bouts of fear permeate all I see
Heightening nervousness threatens me."
Thoughts from English 121...
! Do you ever get the feeling you're being stalked by everyone? Especially guys?
I know, I know, it's pathetic of me to think that everyone's in love with me and think that they all think I'm hot and all that but honestly, it's so annoying. Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me. I really shouldn't complain because once there was a time when I was not looked at by ANYONE, I was all short and very chub and I hated it. I longed for people to think that I was hot and desirable. Thus does desire wound. Be careful what you wish for. Etc.
@ Also, my tutor is really strange looking. I can't decide whether I like him or not. I like him because he's awkward and funny and reminds me of a stork or a wading bird. I don't like him because he gave me a B grade for my narrative and he has a long pointy nose and told us about the love letter that one of the guys in one of his past tutorials wrote him. I wish I had this guy as my tutor, though really a few weeks ago I would have hated him because his name is Tim. But right now he's awesome because he's telling us about how he procrastinated by baking muffins.
# Apparently procrastination is in our DNA. We cannot escape. Brilliant...
$ Somehow in the past week or so I have managed to scramble together a 1800 word essay and a very tricky assignment (which was then copied by 2-3 people who had not even attempted it). I know it's not good for me to force this scramble on myself, because it makes me stress and burst into tears at the dinner table over my meatloaf, but it seems to be normal for uni students. Not the meatloaf, the scrambling. Now I want scrambled eggs. I still have one essay to go which is a redraft which should theoretically be easier than writing a whole essay, but somehow I worry that this is not true.
% All I really want to do is play Age of Empires and watch Grey's Anatomy and read other peoples' blogs. I'm really craving my four months of holidays where I can just chill out.
^ I can't believe next week is the last week of uni. The last week of my first year of University. Holy crap... in no time at all I will be a second year looking down on all the new first years, many of which I will personally already know. It seems to be rather final... this ending of the year. Once I start second year, there's no backing out. It's the middle year. The middle child. I'm excited but I'm also rather nervous. And right now I feel so jaded with uni that it's hard to think about next year's coursework.
& Oh God, a debate about why is it that we don't eat dog, with a really angry opinionated lady. Why is there always a crazily opinionated person in every lecture in every tutorial? You know, the person who always speaks out. Sadly I think that I am that person in my Linguistics tutorial. Now that phonetics is over I am getting back my ability to know the answer almost before I finish reading the question, which is comforting because it means that I can accurately and confidently answer three of the four sections of the exam.
* I'm really scared of the Anthropology exam. Come to think of it I'm pretty terrified that I'll fail my latest essay- the one I was scrambling with yesterday- because I got a C for my last one and I thought it was rather good. It pisses me off because it's only my general education class and it has caused me so much panic. Is there no class which is an easy win for gen ed? Shouldn't they all be easy? I just want a bum class that I can sail through, pleeeeeease...
( Hello, girl who went to Jared's primary who has subscribed to my blog. Your name is vaguely familiar to me but please don't be offended if we were actually in the same school once and I don't remember... I have a better memory for faces than names, and your face is vaguely familiar too. I really enjoy your blogs, they are a good way of procrastinating and sometimes really make me laugh. Not sure if that was your aim with them, but there it is.
) This whole post has only taken me half an hour. I like to sit in the last seat of the row because then I can hide my laptop screen from people behind me and they can't see that I'm not doing what I'm meant to be doing. HOLY CRAP DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE ON THE PROJECTOR SCREEN! My God, I love this Tim guy. I just wish his name wasn't Tim. Girls do have Adam's apples but they don't stick out. Kieran isn't coming for his singing lesson dammit so I don't get Grey's season 2 or $30. I'm cooking chicken stirfry tonight for dinner. I'm going to start my English essay tonight, but I might not because Jared will be there. Procrastination, procrastination...
Sleep disturbed, restless mind, petrified
Bouts of fear permeate all I see
Heightening nervousness threatens me."
Thoughts from English 121...
! Do you ever get the feeling you're being stalked by everyone? Especially guys?
I know, I know, it's pathetic of me to think that everyone's in love with me and think that they all think I'm hot and all that but honestly, it's so annoying. Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me. I really shouldn't complain because once there was a time when I was not looked at by ANYONE, I was all short and very chub and I hated it. I longed for people to think that I was hot and desirable. Thus does desire wound. Be careful what you wish for. Etc.
@ Also, my tutor is really strange looking. I can't decide whether I like him or not. I like him because he's awkward and funny and reminds me of a stork or a wading bird. I don't like him because he gave me a B grade for my narrative and he has a long pointy nose and told us about the love letter that one of the guys in one of his past tutorials wrote him. I wish I had this guy as my tutor, though really a few weeks ago I would have hated him because his name is Tim. But right now he's awesome because he's telling us about how he procrastinated by baking muffins.
# Apparently procrastination is in our DNA. We cannot escape. Brilliant...
$ Somehow in the past week or so I have managed to scramble together a 1800 word essay and a very tricky assignment (which was then copied by 2-3 people who had not even attempted it). I know it's not good for me to force this scramble on myself, because it makes me stress and burst into tears at the dinner table over my meatloaf, but it seems to be normal for uni students. Not the meatloaf, the scrambling. Now I want scrambled eggs. I still have one essay to go which is a redraft which should theoretically be easier than writing a whole essay, but somehow I worry that this is not true.
% All I really want to do is play Age of Empires and watch Grey's Anatomy and read other peoples' blogs. I'm really craving my four months of holidays where I can just chill out.
^ I can't believe next week is the last week of uni. The last week of my first year of University. Holy crap... in no time at all I will be a second year looking down on all the new first years, many of which I will personally already know. It seems to be rather final... this ending of the year. Once I start second year, there's no backing out. It's the middle year. The middle child. I'm excited but I'm also rather nervous. And right now I feel so jaded with uni that it's hard to think about next year's coursework.
& Oh God, a debate about why is it that we don't eat dog, with a really angry opinionated lady. Why is there always a crazily opinionated person in every lecture in every tutorial? You know, the person who always speaks out. Sadly I think that I am that person in my Linguistics tutorial. Now that phonetics is over I am getting back my ability to know the answer almost before I finish reading the question, which is comforting because it means that I can accurately and confidently answer three of the four sections of the exam.
* I'm really scared of the Anthropology exam. Come to think of it I'm pretty terrified that I'll fail my latest essay- the one I was scrambling with yesterday- because I got a C for my last one and I thought it was rather good. It pisses me off because it's only my general education class and it has caused me so much panic. Is there no class which is an easy win for gen ed? Shouldn't they all be easy? I just want a bum class that I can sail through, pleeeeeease...
( Hello, girl who went to Jared's primary who has subscribed to my blog. Your name is vaguely familiar to me but please don't be offended if we were actually in the same school once and I don't remember... I have a better memory for faces than names, and your face is vaguely familiar too. I really enjoy your blogs, they are a good way of procrastinating and sometimes really make me laugh. Not sure if that was your aim with them, but there it is.
) This whole post has only taken me half an hour. I like to sit in the last seat of the row because then I can hide my laptop screen from people behind me and they can't see that I'm not doing what I'm meant to be doing. HOLY CRAP DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE ON THE PROJECTOR SCREEN! My God, I love this Tim guy. I just wish his name wasn't Tim. Girls do have Adam's apples but they don't stick out. Kieran isn't coming for his singing lesson dammit so I don't get Grey's season 2 or $30. I'm cooking chicken stirfry tonight for dinner. I'm going to start my English essay tonight, but I might not because Jared will be there. Procrastination, procrastination...
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