Baby Steps

So, I've through my various internet profiles and begun making changes. Nothing big, just changing the gendered pronouns over. It's not that big a step, if I'm honest, and to anybody else they probably haven't even noticed.
But it feels much bigger.
I've been to see the GP, too, which is a much bigger step, and I'm waiting for a referral to a gender clinic. That's a really big step. It's a huge, huge step. It's like a giant leap, and for all my seeming need to constantly keep moving, I don't do giant leaps. I can do baby steps, they're easy. I can do baby steps because I know exactly where I'm putting my feet, but bigger steps and it becomes harder to know where you're going to land. I don't like not being the one in control, and I don't like not being the one with the power, which right now I'm not. I go the the gender specialist when I get my referral and things start moving out of my hands, and I don't like that.
I probably wouldn't be writing any of this if I thought more than a couple of people would ever read it. I don't like looking weak, and even I will have to begrudgingly admit I look pretty weak right now, but I guess it's just one of those things. By this point, things really are moving out of my control, even if it's really only just a little, and I guess I'm going to have to to accept that and take that as it comes. I won't lie, I don't like that, but I can give up a little bit of control for this. It'll all be worth it in the end, I'm sure.

Three day post

I couldn't open the Lambrini bottle, so I had to open it with my teeth. I strained my jaw, and that's going to be wonderful to try and explain in the morning. What a brilliant start to my night.

I seem to be starting a new project. Specifically, an actually serious attempt at an urban fantasy, rather than my more typical everything-I-write-is-a-piss-take approach. This is going to end badly, I'm sure. I'll just drink through the whole things and add little bits

Well, so much for that. I hit a wall pretty quick. I don't really do serious writing.

Have decided to take a nap, and it's now the next day. I wasn't kidding when I said I don't do serious writing.

have now been to bother the poor creative writing folks (all three that were there, anyway. Most of us have better things to do on a Saturday), having gotten a great whopping one chapter to show them. I think I'm beginning to remember why all of my writing is piss-takes again. I do not do serious.

Been a few more hours, nothing has been done, and I somehow managed to spill alcohol on my bed :(

Okay, this entry has so far spanned a total of three days. Over those three days, I've gotten no writing and no work done. I should probably do something with myself at some point...
And drink less. I really need to drink less.

You Know You're a Student When... (part 2)

... You've even given up on cooking instant noodles now, and are living on nothing but chocolate biscuits and cheap alcohol.
... You hand your essays in whilst trying to hide that you're so drunk you can barely walk straight, despite the fact that it's not even midday (wait, or should that have gone on 'You know you're an alcoholic when...')
... A worrying number of clubs that you've joined have degraded into nothing more than 'Get Drunk and Tell Dick Jokes' societies.
... That last one doesn't bother you at all.
... People actually approve of your developing alcoholism.
... You find you've spent too much money on alcohol and junk food and have to choose between budgeting (and staying sober) until your next student finance payment or swallow your pride and run to Daddy... and then remember that Daddy's also poor so there isn't really any choice, and have to try and remember how to not drink.

You Know You're an Alcoholic When... (part 2)

... You want to leave the bar despite not having finished your drink, and rather than waste alcohol you pour what's left into an empty water bottle.
... You take said alcohol-filled water bottle to creative writing club with you, but only because you didn't have a lecture to drink it in that morning.
... You've killed enough brain cell that you forget which painkillers you'll be allergic to in the morning.
... You get excited when the shop has a different flavour of Lambrini in.
... You actually drink Lambrini.

The Return of the Pheasant

So, this is what I saw the other day while walking back to dorms from a lecture.

No, seriously. There is an honest to God fucking Pheasant here.

Look at it. It's a pheasant. What the fuck?

Now, I must admit, I'm kinda wondering how nobody here has come up with the bright idea of taking it home and roasting it, because I have to say as a poor student living off instant noodles the thought does have its appeal, but clearly the pheasant is doing okay because I saw it in exactly the same place as it was last time. Maybe I'm not the only one who's scared of what the vegan society would do to me if I roasted it? Or maybe, you know, it's actually kinda cool, in its own, weird way, and I wouldn't really hurt an innocent pheasant.

No, but seriously, what the fuck?

More Procrastinating.

I've an essay due in tomorrow.
My fencing comp is this weekend.
I'm pretty sure I have anthology and journal submissions that I was going to work on.
I am procrastinating like hell.

No, really, I've an essay due TOMORROW and so far I have nothing but a vague outline of the structure and a few hundred words, plus a couple overdue library books on my bedroom floor that will be needed for it. It's not even 2 o'clock and I think I may actually declare it drinking time, because really there's no way that I'm getting this essay done sober.


Okay, it's now eighteen hours later. Past 10am. I've not drunk that much, to be fair. About one and a half bottles of WKD, which doesn't even count as alcohol, and some cider, some rum. Probably some vodka, too, I wasn't really paying attention. If anything, it was all the sugar that was the bad idea. I actually feel kinda ill. Too many skittles.
And I'm still not finished. I mean, I only have a couple hundred more words, but seriously, it's due in under two hours, I need to stop fucking procrastinating.

Finished about 11am, got the essay in on  time. It's now about half four, and I've no excuse now not to get off my lazy behind and tidy my room, since the essay is done. Right when I sober up a little. I should probably have stopped drinking after I finished the essay.
And I should probably hit publish at some point, too, rather than just keep adding to this for the rest of the day, though that could be rather interesting.

Leftover Chinese Food

Okay, so, absolutely fuck all has happened here. Seriously, if this place got any more boring I might actually die.
I've got some volunteer work, mind, which gives me something to do. It also means that I get to come home at three o'clock Saturday morning and find a blown-up condom hanging from the ceiling. No, I do not want to know about that one.
Seriously, they drew a smiley face on it and everything.


I'm supposed to be working on a script right now, since the deadline to be able to get our drama society to perform it is tonight, but I'm procrastinating big time. I'm currently eating leftover Chinese from last night, since uni seems to have killed my ability to actually eat a full meal at once and so I eat leftovers almost as often as I eat non-leftovers, and updating the blog I never bother with. But at least I got a reference to writing in this blog. Now it sounds like I actually do some.

And, in some really unrelated to this in any way news, I have a fencing comp and the AU ball coming up in a few months, so I might be able to legitimately call myself an athlete at some point. And I've even spent money (something which I certainly do not have) on my own bow. Now if only I weren't so damn fat, I might be able to pretend to you all that I'm cool.