It’s been a sleepy couple of days recently with rain coming down persistently at the oddest of times. Between lounging around in the house in pajamas and going to work to glaze over in class, nothing much else has been happening, all which will change next week when work starts.
I’m kinda nervous about this: I keep having alternate dreams and nightmares in which Chip either bounds in a friendly way around other dogs like a healthy, well-socialised pup, or ends up attacking giant labs and German shepards in the jugular and stands aside wagging while they bleed to death all over the grass.
I don’t know... only Saturday will tell.
I’ll really miss sitting around a table and having completely bimbotic conversations with the girls around me and reading the newspapers without actually having to worry about what goes into them.
I’ll also miss stealing Kim’s phone and sending her anonymous messages from a secret admirer.
More than all that, I’ll miss actually learning stuff.
The trainer today said something salient about the newspaper and what the public’s complaints are: namely that it contains too much of the government and doesn’t cover the issues that matter.
He pointed out that people can say the media are cowards as much as they want, but that we’re the ones who put our names on what we write and put ourselves out there, every single day, while they’re yapping away behind dubious pseudonyms and refusing to be quoted.
The job is harder than it looks, but people are always ready and willing to make an easy crucifixion, particularly when they know no one will be able to attribute it to them.
And that’s the worst kind of newsmaker there is: the one who repeatedly tells you it’s a great idea to write your story because “you guys should really blow the lid off of this one” but then refuses to talk about it himself.
And it was this which reminded me to give myself some credit for what I do (because you can get to feel really useless over it sometimes) because whatever the case, I am out there, standing by what I write, right next to my byline and no one can take that integrity away from me.
Black shirt - Target. Foufy skirt - Forever 21. Grey cut-out heels - Lily.
Bag - Longchamps. Birdcage pendant - Accessorize. Wrist wrap - Diva.
I know I said I wouldn't talk about Bobby McGee anymore, but I just had to say - I think I've finally solved the image quality conundrum. Thank you, Picasa! Also, I really like the fouf on this skirt - I wear it anytime I want to feel glamourous and swish my way around.
In other news: being on course gives one lots of time to study and scientifically analyse the things happening around one. Interesting trends, for one thing.
Example: Anyone who eats chocolate will tell you there’s a clear line between Mars and Snickers, and most people quite emphatically love one, despite the fact that they are both pretty similar in theory.
I for example, love Snickers with its chewy nuts and toffee and that strange spongey white thing in the centre that could be the secretions of an alien and which no one will ever know for sure. If there were no Snickers bars on the chocolate rack, I sure as hell wouldn’t reach for a Mars bar, even though I can kind of appreciate the cloying stickiness of it.
Others in my class are also on pretty firm sides of the Mars-Snickers dichotomy, but thankfully, I’ve discovered, most people like Starbucks, which is pretty much my version of heaven.
You may rant and rail against the Macdonaldisation of the world all you want, but mark my words, when you’re alone and freezing in some strange foreign land, a glimpse of the (slightly inappropriate) big-breasted, two-tailed mermaid sign is enough to make you feel like you’re home.