Some Days

You know how some days you wake up at two and start swearing wildly because you meant to wake up at eight and be all responsible instead of sleeping half the day away, and then you mean to go grocery shopping, but instead you squander even more hours away in the computer room, and you return home seething with disgust, and then you find a CD-shaped parcel in your pigeon-hole wrapped with paper saying “This is not a CD” repeated all over it in various sizes and ink densities, and there’s a poster-shaped parcel waiting for you in reception, and when you get up to your room and open them, they’re belated birthday presents from your best friend, and one is the lovely soundtrack to Hilary And Jackie, and the other is a beautiful rare Sandman poster you’ve spent years longing, longing, longing to own?

Usually, me neither, which is why yesterday was so great. Thanks, Russ. :)

Clubbing Protect-tor

Something I didn’t say in Saturday’s Fabric report: It would all have been a lot less fun without the company of Russ, who always manages to be the best dancer in the club, yet never (well, hardly ever) hits me even while dancing right behind me (which is why, yesterday, I only described my experience in the drum’n’bass room as being battered from almost all directions), and somehow manages to keep me feeling safe and secure even as I’m stumbling completely blind through smoke.

Tooting My Moot Horn

Okay. Some positivity just scampered up and blew a raspberry at some of the stuff I wrote below.

I won the moot, despite having to argue an unwinnable point of law. I’m now in the finals of the competition.

This is exceptionally sweet, firstly because I did actually spend the past couple of days killing myself for this moot. I might try this advance preparation thang again in future. It was hell while it lasted, but once the moot itself began, and the judge started asking me how I had the audacity to argue against all existing authority, the fun began. Confrontations and battles of wits are my fetish. They give me mojo.

It also makes my entire effort in this competition worthwhile. I don’t actually like mooting, but I had to take part in the competition again this year, because I lost in the quarter-finals last year to people I didn’t respect intellectually, judged by a judge I didn’t respect intellectually either. She didn’t ask me any questions during my speech, and chucked me out of the competition without ever giving me the chance to show that I could stand up to questioning, which is a crucial requirement of successful mooting.

Well. You were wrong, bitch. Don’t come watch me in the finals, because you’re not invited.

Other (and less nastily expressed) sources of positivity are people who did give a damn. Oliver abandoned his own work to help me last night, replying to my guilty “Oh, please don’t bother with this if you’re busy” protestations with “Fuck my company law essay, this is much more important.” Esther took on the job of moot clerk, which involves two hours of incredible tedium, requires brute strength in hefting musty law reports around, and can only be a labour of love for anyone who subjects themself to it. Nick text messaged support and good wishes.

I might well feel depressed again some time soon, but for now I’m gonna go back to my room, read e.e. cummings and listen to Built To Spill. Yeah.

The Boys

Sometimes over here I forget how nice it is to suddenly see people I’m normally with only at home in Singapore. Luke and Walter flew over here from the US during their Thanksgiving holiday, and this evening I finally managed to meet up with them as well as various other ACS types, all of whom I’ve somehow met over the years. Dinner was good – I finally got to try the famous Four Seasons roast duck rice at Bayswater which every Singaporean studying here apparently swears by. It was pretty good, but what was more important to me was that there was proper spicy chilli. That alone can make even bad food taste good. It’s unbelievable how I can miss something so simple so very much – so much so that I’m willing pay something like ten times the price it would be in Singapore just to eat it here at the few Chinese restaurants that serve it.

But beyond the food, I also really enjoyed the company. In the summer of ’99, before we all started our first year in university, my mother once remarked that for every one time I went out with “the girls”, I went out five times with “the guys”. She was right, more or less. While I count a number of girls among my closest friends, I tend to get along better with guys, or at least, they bore/irritate me far less. These guys in particular. There’s something about those ACSians, I gotta say, maybe something about their particular class, maybe something about the fact that they’re all from the GEP. I can’t put my finger on it, but whatever it is, it makes them great company. Out of the people I met tonight, only Luke, Walter and Vikram were among the people I meet up with a lot at home, but Donovan and Kaifeng ably stepped into Jeff’s shoes and conducted the “Slam Mich” campaign on his behalf. I’m not sure if other girls would define great company as being continually insulted by people you’ve only known for a few hours, but it entertains me immensely. Especially when I get my own back, which has been known to happen.

I’ve been trying to do some work for the past hour, but I haven’t been able to concentrate. I keep remembering. And smiling.