Bring on week thirteen, baby. I am so ready to have this semester finished. Largely because I want to read all f those books that have nothing to do with anything I’m meant to be reading. And I also want to smash out those last two hundred pages of Perdido Street Station which is fantastically awesome that I want to cry.
However, the object of my current smashing affection is damn Pericles. Why did everyone think he was so great? I almost wish I’d taken the easy stance and said that yeah sure, he was democratic.
I even went to my nmost favourite cynic historian, P.J. Rhodes to tell me all the horrible things he’d done, but he just rabbited on about Samis. Ugh.
1000 words to go. Meerrrrrrghhh.
Hanging out with the internets, looking at the book I need to read but am distracted by so many shiny things. I counted how many people in my Journalism Tutorial were on Facebook. At the highest point, there were at least eight out of the ten people with computers on Facebook.
This concerns me. (not to say that I’m not a crazy Facebook addict) But it concerns me the way it has taken off. I know a few people who would lose their shit if they lost it.
That being said, I guess you’ve got to make sure that your crops don’t wilt.
It baffles me to think that some people out there consider Anzac Day to not be relevant anymore. I’m not going to sit here and preach about how fantastic it was for people to serve for our country and ensure future generations safety; I’ve never been to a dawn service in my life. (Unless of course I did when I was in the womb). I’ll also admit that I’m a little bit bitter about no public holiday this year.
However, I do think it is still important. The moment you start questioning something’s relevance, it’s the first step that’s taken for people forgetting. And I think it’s important to remember.
On a slightly cheerier note, I do believe I have completed my essay. Suck on that, 18th century philosophers.
On a mildly sunny Sunday afternoon, I’m inside writing a whole bunch of wank of The Enlightenment of the eighteenth century. It’s very interesting stuff to read about, not so much to write about. This being said, There’s only another three to four hundred words to go. Patiently waiting for Mum and Dad to return from fishing so that I can have some company. Awfully bored.
4 pages later, I’m only 200 words to go.