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[09 Nov 2004|08:46am] |
Now then. I awake after a nicely settling night's sleep, thank you very much. Gentle bathing of comfort and night for once, making my heart content.
For once.
For once my train on the familiar train games of Monday was not late. It had the map, and had found the station this time. Got on and found a reasonably chav free carriage. Sat down and did more reflection staring, whilst tugging at my hair near constantly.
I was tired. Felt a little like a fifty year old just beginning to lose the energy in keeping active for the whole day, my ears were heavy, and the yawns coming. Broadstairs now is all roads glinting with the rainfall and the sound of cars. College itself handsomly threw it's buildings into my vision, punctuating the dark town. I went inside and - being early - I climbed the stairs, swung the doors open and stepped into the corridor outside my class, slumping onto the floor and closing my eyes with my head down. I thought for a while, the sounds of various musical delights in my ears. This was my silence. Time to reflect. A peace with a soundtrack.
Even with the constant melodies, I and the college were still. The beige plastic flooring shone in the bright lights, and I thought about what it would be like to just lose it and stretch across it towards the double doors, screaming and waving my arms, laughing. Didn't do this, but I will one day.
Probably just as my tutor arrives, or something.
Some of the other guys arrived and so did Mr Caretaker, swinging his key like a prison warder. He didn't actually, he simply got the key out and opened the class for us. No swingeage as far as I could see.
Class filled up, and so did my mind...swirling, begging to be given time in my concious. I told them they'd have to wait, I was LEARNING NOW. They said they'd come back later. My eyes began to drop again, worrying me further about my health levels. I'm only twenty eight, I surely should not be appreciating a nice sit down so much. Certainly not one in a college at any rate.
Carole turned up, and we proceeded to get into colons and semi colons. Some exercises later, exam sheets were perused and questions looked at. Interesting. Especially the language of speech one. I think I will look this lot up. There's AS study things online, to be sure.
Break, and a cigarrette in the cold....don't care. I like stepping out and bracing. Lots of that please. Smoking in the wind's face, teasing the rainfall....leaning on a droplet covered rail and feeling them combine to form wetness on the hand. More thinking...yes.....they're back..now then...you lot.
I like thinking sometimes. No better place, in this open air, poking one finger into my teeth, looking down and smiling, a smokey blast drifting from the hand curled around a rollie.
Back in, essays back.
Alison has dylsexia. Because of the ignorance of her teachers and the educational system at the time, not least it's assumption that those with reading trouble were stupid and were therefore would "have to make do", she was shoved into a remedial class at twenty five, having never read a book before, wherin the first she did was "Animal Farm"
Her essay answering the question "How does Bronte's biographical life influence the novel "Wuthering Heights" (Or something similar).
It was fucking brilliant. She composed the three page essay as a series of diary entries, and used the same mechanics and lovely vocabulary and metaphor as Emily Bronte, often turning it entirely to her own creativity. Open mouthes all round. Incredible work. What this kicked off was the mutual feeling amongst all that we're all doing something different, and that is why this group is working so well. There's no one right way of writing, but there are many. And we're all finding one.
Depsite my attempts to wing it through an essay that made me want to claw my own feet off, I got an A- for my essay about the love story. Much to improve, but a great surprise. I suppose it was an ideas piece.
Good stuff. Time to go home. Talked to Carole and Paul in the car, encouraging people, both. Paul exited at his usual drop off point, and Carole drove on, stopping to get petrol and running about whilst I stared at the rather confrontational warnings on the pump about ".....FILL UP....PAY UP......."....it's the textual equivalent of having a grotty and burly man hanging about whilst you actually fill the tank, prodding you in the arm with a bill for immediate payment, actually making you spill the petrol.
God. Sod getting a car anytime soon. Though it will no doubt become necessary. Talked a lot to Carole, even causing her to get the wrong turning so that we ended up in bloody Monkton, or the "drive of doom" as I call it...a long snakey village with souls waiting to pounce if you dare to slow the car down.
A good chat. I'm now a lot more sure about things. Things? Things. Back to the Bell, and some Guiness amongst a desperately quiet pub.
I walked home, and I smiled. And you know why.
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