gpoy

Dear S.,

gpoy: Gratuitous Picture Of Yourself, used a lot on tumblr; A picture of yourself, or something that you do like a gif of someone dancing like an idiot or a socially awkward penguin picture.

(--> http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=gpoy)

this is something I have learned from Tumblr this week. (Who ever invented tumblr, anyways? It is hor-ri-ble! can't stay off it, but I'm refusing to get my own account.)

so, what I was wanting to say: I am writing my final Bachelor paper at the moment (well, actually, it's been going on for quite a while now).

Charlie will help me express the way I feel about it- multiple personality gpoy, here we go:


hey, everything is just fine, got 30pages written already, professor kind of gave me a carte blanche,my topic is SUPER interesting and I could go on about it forever. stretch and smile.

everything that needs to be said is already stored in your head, it's purely a matter of typing it. let's swerve on the internet and play and bake and stuff.


i-i-i-i-i (sound of strings in Hitchcocks shower murder scene in Psycho)- What an EARTH I am even writing about? what is my thesis statement again- "Let me explain to you my blury ideas of how the main concerns of youth a hundred years ago are still the same as now and how these are represented in like all of literature? I'll be like totally able to do that in 30 something pages, and I'll show you that I completely get it all, ok?" heeeeelp! way too complex way too broad topic, can never be clear about what I actually want to say- I am not saying this very same thing for the fifth time already?


just shut down the f*cking computer already and get a life. academia is really one big house where all the bullshit of the world is being expatiated, do I really want to be part of this?



ohne Worte.

Well, excuse my rude language use- this is just how I sound in real life.

S., I am so happy to know that you are around, right now in Ghent, I suppose. What would I do without you?

love,

M.

stressed=desserts ?!

Dear S.,

It is now 11.30pm. While I am writing this text, my oven is baking a bunch of cupcakes. I am baking them at this hour because I can’t deal with myself anymore. (Besides, any time is the right time to bake.) So, it’s May today. Wow. 30 more days and my Bachelorwork has to be finished. 31 days and my exams will start. So, I am kind of freaking out a little. I am sooo incredibly tiring to myself like this! I have stayed inside (well and on the newly cleaned terrace) all day long to write. At least like… 10 pages or so. But, of course, after having written a few sentences, I notice that I actually do not really know all that much about what I’m writing (some narratological questions). So I think: hey, let’s get that book from first year to refresh my knowledge about narratology. Having found the book, I notice that back then I had only read like a third of it- it was my very first real Dutch uni book. It was sooo incredibly difficult to understand it, the field is quiet complex and then that new, strange language… So, what do I do: I start reading it on page 1. And whenever I read a theoretical book, I like to take notes. Like a few lines per two pages, in a word document, so that I have the core information at hand whenever I need it. As you can imagine, this takes up QUITE some time. The book I’m talking about has 177pages. Ok, it was utopical to think that I could do them ALL today, but, come on, I’m only at page 50 now, after say 3 ½ hours of work. Also, I have only written one single page for my work. 1. Sigh. So, this is basically how every single day I am trying to do productive work and end up desperate and with no output whatsoever. That is why I am baking now. I can sometimes be so incredibly tiring for myself (and my surroundings), when I have the feeling I’m not working well enough. I tend to get all hyper, sing awful songs in a horrible voice, start meowing like a car just rolled over my imaginative tail, start running around like a headless chicken (haha, like Charlie a little bit… We just found a little bell and put it around her neck with some lace… she is so funny! –and she’s ok, don’t you worry.)


(this is the postcard I gave you for your last birthday... isn't it just unbelievable ;) )

Ok, it’s time to get the cakes out of the oven. The icing is already waiting for them!
00:46. Can't wait to get my teeth in one of these!







N. and I decided to go for flashy colours. and love, of course. I have tons of love for her. and cake.

my dear, now I've written all about how exhausting studying is, and just yesterday I worked at a kinf of info-market at my Uni, trying to convince possible future students of how exiting and fun language-and literature studies are... :)
I guess, that's just how my life goes.

also, I still wanted to say that I miss us blogging more. i know we both have extremely busy times, but still our blog makes me happy everytime I visit it.

sleep tight, I'll enjoy a pink cake and read some more!
xxx

M.

Freitag

Dear S.,

friday afternoon. I'm sitting at my table, staring outside. Charlie captured my lap half an hour ago, so I'm bound to sit here. Actually I should be working for Uni, but there are too many things taking my thoughts off.
Hm. I'm discovering Roland Barthes at the moment. I really love "A lover's dicourse: fragments". Here are three small excerpts:

"To try to write love is to confront the muck of language; that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive (by the limitless expansion of the ego, by emotive submersion) and impoverished (by the codes on which love diminishes and levels it)"


"Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. The emotion derives from a double contact: on the one hand, a whole activity of discourse discreetly, indirectly focuses upon a single signified, which is "I desire you," and releases, nourishes, ramifies it to the point of explosion (language experiences orgasm upon touching itself); on the other hand, I enwrap the other in my words, I caress, brush against, talk up this contact, I extend myself to make the commentary to which I submit the relation endure. "


"Am I in love? --yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits."

so, here's some thinking material for us :)

Ok, and here are some ongoing projects:




my future winter scarf. I should speed up knitting it, it's utterly necessary already!


tea mixture: camomile, apple and cinneamon


drying apples above our heating.. mmmh!



make-up bag for N. Her colleague singers started to laugh at her because she used to keep her make-up and toothbrush in a deepfreeze- plastic bag. Not any more ;)

My dear Frederike, I'll go on with other blury business now. And see you later tonight, for spaghetti. Maybe even at your new place?

M.