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solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris
It’s that time of the year again, when all the doe-eyed freshers come to spend their ludicrous amounts of student money on copious amounts of drugs while I sit green-eyed in the corner. Or something along those lines. The point being I’m now officially a bitter postgraduate with no money and writing this post with a hangover after drinking too much red wine and saying ‘fuck’ too much in the company of my head of department. Come to think of it, that last comment sounds creepy, so I’ll just add in the clause that sex was not involved.
This roughly translates to the reality of being chained to any location that has a copious amount of caffeine and books for horrendous amounts of time while I try to secure a distinction for my MA, the benefit of which shall mean that I then have a crack at getting a fat paycheck from the taxpayer allowing me to pursue a PhD. Of course, this means that my already bleak social life will become a thing of the past as I snuggle up with more books than the Pagemaster.
So with a hangover courtesy of the philosophy department, I’m well on my way of getting that distinction.
If I am to succeed this year I’m going to have to become more organised than an army drill sergeant, so Google has come to my rescue with a helpful combination of Google Sync and Google Calendar. The fact that I liked the novelty of syncing my phone with my online life has nothing to do with it. So I now have all my tutors’ email addresses, my timetable and any upcoming events on my phone without the hassle of messing around on a micro QWERTY keyboard to do this. As an aside, I’d recommend doing this to any student who has a phone that can run the Sync app.
In more interesting news, I was bitten by a spider a few days back and still haven’t gained any super powers. I used to be quite the arachnophobe when I was younger, but more recently I’ve become fairly nonplussed by their presence. So when my girlfriend pointed out one climbing up the wall in the hallway I decided to pick the little guy up to take him outside when the bastard decided to bite me. This may be somewhat ignorant of me, but I was under the impression that spiders found in the UK didn’t bite or, if they did, you wouldn’t notice. I did notice and I still have a small red mark where it did it. It was either this spider or this one. As far as I’m concerned, this was an act of war. Hencefourth, all spiders entering my house have now forfeit their lives and will be met with a swift squishing upon being discovered (apart from the one I burned alive, which was official revenge for getting bitten).
Though this all relates to my other worry that my new housemate is actually the Spider Queen. Since moving in, our house now has more spiders than the entire cast of Eight Legged Freaks. Our house is surrounded by a myriad of webs and I often find the big brown-legged bastards nipping round the walls and floors of the house, usually in my room for some unknown reason. Not only has my cat failed to do anything about this other than occasionally patting them on the head, but dangerous levels of Raid haven’t managed to stop the invasion either. I’m not sure screaming ‘GET AWAY YOU EIGHT! LEGGED! FREEEAAAKKKSSS!’ whilst wielding a shotgun would really get me very far either, but the idea is sounding more and more palatable every time I find another multi-legged infiltrator.
Given that my housemate claims to be terrified of spiders and always asking for help to get rid of them, I’ve come to the conclusion that the spider population has undergone some kind of anti-monarchist revolution and is intent on deposing their current queen. I’m no fan of the royal family myself and have no qualms about spiders wishing to form their own republic, but I do protest to my house being the apparent Bastille that they are hellbent on storming. Especially as they keep getting the wrong fucking room.
I’m having to content myself with the levels on the latest Castlevania game that feature giant spiders that I can pummel into being my bitches with my multi-talented cross….weapon….thing. Riding around on top of a huge spider, forcing them to do my bidding before I choke them to death with a spiked chain does feel like the cathartic equivalent of blowing up a spider farm but with the added bonus of not involving acquiring knowledge of amateur explosives and the whereabouts of spider farms. I guess you could take out the spider section of your nearest zoo instead (which, presumably, is easier to find than a spider farm), but at the cost of potentially hurting animals that aren’t bastards and having to deal with the subsequent police investigation, I’d stick with the PS3 option personally.
Oh, and if you happen to know what ‘The Spider Queen’s chambers are this way’ is in spider language, please drop me a line.