The Thursday stagger begins at 8.50, when I finally get out of bed (for a 9 am lecture) after intermittent swatting of three different alarm clocks with three different ring tones going off every three (feels like) seconds over the past hour (Flaming Lips parking lot experiments come to mind, somehow).
The rest of the day goes like this: Stagger to Conflict of Laws lecture. Stagger to Jurisprudence seminar. Stagger to lunch. Stagger to Conflict of Laws tutorial. (Every lesson intellectually exhausting.) Stagger back home to do office duty. Stagger into Benediction and play the organ.
Sir Geldof? I think I’m changing it to Thursdays. Feel free to open fire.
This week no sappy songs, charming Irishmen or pigshit balloons were available to cheer me up, but I made do with alcohol, A.H.W.O.S.G and one of those energizing ohmygod-I-never-never-knew-you-were-like-this conversations with Nav, who came over for her friend’s (my hallmate’s) birthday party and ended up getting a tour of my room where we suddenly found out we both liked Pavement and the Smashing Pumpkins and Seamus Heaney and war poetry and literature of protest and didn’t connect much with anyone else in the law faculty. This after two years of little more than pleasant but incidental conversations and much amusement at my chronic lecture-based narcolepsy. Funny how things like this happen, but I’m not too surprised. My room is a repository of a lot of me-ness that isn’t easily apparent to people who only see me outside of it.