Things that, retrospectively, were not a good idea

- the hip abducter machine at the gym, unless the sound of me going "shit the fucking bed man, what the fuck??" has suddenly become acceptable
- cheap socks (they only ever slide down inside your shoe and you get a blister)
- making oh-so-stupid jokes in front of the boy I think I like
- drinking so much coffee that I am jittery and sick

If I concentrate on these types of things, maybe I won't have to think about what just happened. I really need a hug.

Mammy, I'm a gay man now!

Last night I left the party, crying, and walked across London, crying. I called my ex boyfriend, crying. Dressed as a cat.

Today I went to the theatre, so a bit of everything really.

Dialogue

x: I love girls who write. Poetry and music, it's like the sun shining. It shines on me and makes me shiny.
Me: Ahem.

z: Er, I have to tell you I have a girlfriend.
Me: (laughter)
z: Did you know?
Me: No. But seriously, if you'd said you were gay I would have had exactly the same reaction.
z: What?
Me: I think it's me, not you.

A generally productive day involving some sleep, some study, a visit to the gym, a pitstop visit to my house and then a night of booze and singing in French on the night bus and shouting "Eduardo! Eduardo!" on Regent Street. And a dance off, where I showed off my signature move of standing in the corner smoking fags, bitching and being a bit lairy. I am pure class.

"And then we had sex"

I'm so tired, but I feel like I can't sleep. Various moments of hilarity recently, also much inappropriate laughing out loud and not enough reading and not enough going to the gym. Thankfully, not much eating, but unfortunately more than made up for by last nights "10 double vodka special" (don't say I don't try).

Yesterday I was standing on the steps of SOAS talking to a very nice young man about philosophy, and he announced that his lecture had been intellectual masturbation. This crazed man jumped out of literally nowhere and started berating him for using the word masturbation, and how didn't we know the Arabs had invented it anyway and transported it to the West in the 1950's, and if we went to the library we could look at the Kama Sutra, and how a nice young girl like me didn't want to hear about masturbation. I tried so hard not to laugh but the man was insane. As he was leaving, he shook my friends hand, and then grabbed my shoulder and exclaimed: "you're a very lovely girl, jah!"

We did the pub quiz yesterday and got a very impressive 9 out of 20. I have heard such awful jokes recently. Example:

Q: What's worse than having a bath at Michael Jackson's house?
A: Having a bath at Ian Huntley's.

Last night G and I had an argument until 6 in the morning about religion. His premise, "it's wrong". He was driving me insane, as whatever I said, he said I was wrong. Especially annoying as I had to go to the hospital at 9 am, and I eventually rocked up stinking of booze and fags with last night's make up still on my face.

I'm going to see a play on Sunday about sex. Which fits very nicely with a poem I heard earlier. And my developing penchant for ending sentences with "and then we had sex". And plagiarism.

Sorry - is your name Joachim?

My god I am well lazy, I haven't updated this in ages, or what feels like ages anyway. I have been spending a lot of time as my alter-ego, "Hattie Lamb: Super Geek" which involves going to the library on a Sunday night (and coming away despairing, though not at work), and which culminated in sitting in the library last night, LAUGHING OUT LOUD at passages from Fairbank. Why?? He's not even funny. In fact, only the other day I was reading a critique of Fairbank calling him an imperialist apologist. But I did find it genuinely funny, especially the bit about a Chinese warlord being known as Old Sixty-Three as his (and I quote) "virile member when erect equaled a stack of sixty-three Yuan Shikai dollars". Comedy gold, though maybe I should get out more.

So I did - I went to the gym! As G has told me, I must be the saddest person he knows. He's coming to stay tonight, actually, though I can't really be bothered, although I know I should be nicer to him (yesterday he told me that I sometimes make him feel so unwelcome... I asked if this was true, and he said no... I was disappointed). Anyway, the gym. I thought I was going to die. I also nearly fell off the treadmill again as I was talking to B and C and pretending that I wasn't knackered, and I started laughing and that was nearly the end. Afterwards, we walked over to the Mao graffitti and I taught them some cockney rhyming slang. I well love my coursemates, which is completely novel and totally surreal, given that I was pretty much scared of my coursemates at LSE.

I have realised that it's not so much that the boy I love doesn't know I exist. He does know I exist. It's just that I don't think he could even summon up indifference towards me. Not, of course, that I am doing myself any great favours, seeing that I refuse to talk to him. I am such a social retard at times. Last night #1 and I sat in the kitchen and we tried to formulate a plan, of which the summary was basically "don't act like a chump your whole life". Seeing as I managed EXACTLY that yesterday when I saw him, I wouldn't say the chances of success of any kind are high.

In other news, we had to read an article on Monday by a historian called Michael Hunt. Cue: "in Mike Hunt's passage; I really like Mike Hunt; Mike Hunt was a little dry; have you seen Mike Hunt?" We are possibly the most immature postgraduates ever.

"fancy a lie down?"

I remember back in the old days I used to write about everything I did in this blog. Now I occasionally write about how ill I feel and how much of a whore D is. I just find it hard to summon up any enthusiasm for anything anymore. I used to be so passionate but it's like all the life in me has been sucked out. I was trying to explain last night to #1 that although I should be happy, I'm just not, and that there is something wrong with my head. But that goes back to the whole debate about whether it's okay to admit you're depressed (and in my experience, I've had a whole load of shit from so many people - being called "defective", simply "mental", "stupid" and so on) but it's completely fine to admit you have asthma. At least my lungs work properly, mofo. One good thing about being completely emotionless (or having emotionless periods, as my mood is so cyclical) is that these things just don't matter to me. Or at least, I think they don't and then it all gets a bit much.

But anyway, what I've been up to goes a little something like this... I keep intending to stay in, I really do, but then I go out instead. I also intend to go swimming, but stuff keeps happening, such as forgetting my contact lens solution, or going to the pub with F instead. On Tuesday I decided I love my coursemates, but possibly made a tit of myself, and then came home and drank gin and definitely made a tit of myself. On Thursday I went to my friends leaving drinks (and not to Gay Against You), which was lots of fun. Though I was talking to someone and I suddenly thought "hang on a second, it was YOU, you two faced bastard!" You know when someone is nice to your face, and you just know that they've been saying stuff about you (and this idea is reinforced by being told that "an unnamed man in your department" has been calling you a slag) but you have no proof... And then you get proof. See, these are the things that used to bother me but now, I just think whatever, and with people like that I follow the policy of humouring them and milking them for all they're worth ("Oh, are you passing the bar? Get me a drink, will you?"). It's liberating knowing that you're going to be slagged off - you have no fear and, if anything, it's an incentive to act really badly. Anyway, it was nice to see everyone, and despite making a rather large social faux pas, it was all good and at least no one ended up in a bin.

On Friday I went to a BBC recording of some Brazilian choral music at St Giles' church in the Barbican. I know next to nothing about Brazilian composers, other than obvious ones like Villa Lobos. The first half of the concert constituted about seven Ave Marias, which was nice, but I preferred the second half as it was more folk-type songs, ending up with some Christmas carols! It's going to be broadcast on Radio 3 in the new year sometime. I liked the church too, actually - it seemed so at odds with the Barbican centre. Anyway, afterwards I went to Hackney with SB and her sister, and although I'd said I'd just have dinner and then go home, I ended up at the worst house party in the history of the world. Seriously, SO BAD. Are all UCL people so rubbish? A girl was sick right in the centre of the living room. I left and wandered through a council estate. Yesterday I fell asleep in the library, only to wake up half-choking as I couldn't breathe, thanks to my blocked nose. I had a gym induction. It was kinda terrifying and kinda gratifying, and I plan to get very fit and thin and pretty and then at least something will be okay. I went out with #1 and #2, and we drank far too much champagne, resulting in hilarity.

Today I am contemplating going to the library but seeing as I am at home in my pyjama's, I'm not doing a fab job of it. In mind there is a constant struggle between what I want to do (lethargy) and what I should do. Plus the eternal dilemma of how to get the boy I love to love me in return.

不舒服

I don't feel very well today. And I feel really miserable. One small consolation is that I have found out where I left my scarf and it is awaiting collection as I write. Yay me.

有问题

Why is it that when I swim, I can't see properly for an hour afterwards? Chlorine is the stuff of the devil. Are there any non-chlorinated pools in London? At least it's not as bad as the pool on Roman Road which made me feel sick even cycling past. Moral of the story - don't go to pools that people piss in. I need to stop associating with the underclasses, for the sake of my contact lenses at least.

I pulled a muscle in my leg when I fell off the chair laughing at naked #1. As if that wasn't divine retribution enough, my hip is so painful that I can hardly sit still in class and why oh why is co-proxamol banned now? That shit is good. Thank god I have a stash. Hahaha. And I have a cold. I am seriously STUFFED full of snot. I am going to die alone.

On the plus side... I dunno. I am trying to think of things but I keep being distracted by blowing my nose and the fact that the boy is sitting behind me. Oh yeah, plus side, my hanzi are improving and I translated some of a big long text today.

Other plus side: I am going to see an educational psychologist and I have been classified, courtesy of the disability office, as having multiple disabilities. I find this in some ways amusing, but in some ways quite galling. I am not disabled. I used to be ill, I'm not now (I'm just fat). But hokay, fine, classify me, go on, I dare you... Now can I have free photocopying and a laptop and a dictaphone? And a new print cartridge for my printer at home cos although my brother told me shaking it works, it still prints in a rather fetching shade of grey. I'm kinda telling everyone about my "multiple disabilities" because it makes it funny rather than desperately, desperately sad. In the same way that SB told everyone about buying the Britney Spears album - you have to reappropriate the negative images that are forced upon you. Though on the grand scheme of things, it's kinda different. Like, how do I tell my parents? (answer: I don't)

If I see that slut anywhere, I will kick her head. So I am not going to Gay Against You (sorry, JS), cos we don't want murder on the dance floor, now do we?

Hang on. What the fuck. I'm off to have words. Sort it aht.

ha ha hahahahahhahahahahahahah

Oh fuck I'm really pissed. But only because #1 and her new boyfriend-esque type person were tucking into my gin and I wanted some to myself, which of course meant hoarding it in my stomach. Bleaurgh. I don't like her new boyfriend but she just came in my room wearing only his shirt and I laughed so hard I fell off my chair cos I was like, haha I just saw your privates, and she was like, fuck off I want to drink your gin. Then I told her not to have sex with him cos I don't like him, even though I made that clear by throwing onion skin at him, and she said, yeah, I'll have sex with you, and I said, meh, it beats masturbation.

Quote of the day comes from the disability officer but I'm too pissed to remember. Meh, give me my disability living allowance, hell yes.

I texted my friend to say "come out, we have prostitutes" and then he said grow up. I saw the boy I love so much and he so doesn't know I exist. He's so pretty. Not to mention ace.

我不是同志。Get out of my fucking kitchen.

worst comes to worst my peoples come first

Last night didn't go as planned. In fact, by the end of the night, one could say that it was an unmitigated disaster, although I had a good time earlier on.

How can someone - let's call her D, shall we? - be so fickle and so blatantly uncaring to betray a friend like that? That level of insincerity in a person is frankly disgraceful. If you know that your best friend, who we shall call S, has kissed the boy that she has liked for ages and that things are all happy and shiny, you do not throw yourself at said boy every time your friend leaves the room. Nor do you then disappear to the showers with said boy and grope each other in a pathetic teenage way. Nor do you then deny it. Grow the fuck up. Clearly the fault does not entirely lay with one person as the boy shouldn't have done it, but his allegiances are clearly up his arse, whereas D, if she wishes to be considered as a friend, she should act like a friend. Competitiveness is not an attractive quality, especially if it means that you steal your friends boy. I mean, Jesus Christ, do you want to end up as the woman who no one will allow in their house for fear of you trying to hump their husband?

And another thing, honesty is quite a good character trait. I promise a no-questions-asked money-back guarantee if you find that lying through your back teeth is preferable. For example, if you've been caught in the shower, don't say that you didn't know that S had kissed him. You knew. We discussed it. Hell, we discussed it even after I got there, and I didn't arrive until 4 am. So you knew. But you made the decision that it didn't matter to you, and that you would pursue the boy anyway. That's selfish. But a step to rectifying the situation would be to admit it. Step up. Take responsibility. You'll be amazed.

My views on the boy, unsurprisingly, are pretty rock bottom. You could go so far as to say that I never wish to see him again, and I don't want him anywhere near S, a concept he hasn't quite gathered. He takes arrogance to a level that really is quite unprecedented. But whatever, like I say, he hasn't made a pretence of being anyones friend, possibly because he can't see any further than his own ego and penis. Spread the love, kids. And get herpes.

No one will believe a word you say anyway.

bridges

How do you tell someone that they're possibly the most irritating person I know? Without a repeat of last weeks "boooooooooooo hoooooooooooooo nooooobody loves me" - cos I can't be bothered with that.

I am in the process of burning all my bridges and have decided that the only way not to get ill is to swim 1km every other day and keep really busy. But I fell asleep on the tube and a very small girl held my hand.

And my new uni ID card makes me look like a hoodlum.

Music

I was asked a pertinent question today - "what kind of music do I like?" And it made me think. What the hell do I like? (as opposed to the altogether different question of "what do I listen to")

It seems that I listen to a lot of music I don't like all that much. And I listen to a lot of stuff just for the "comedy value" or because a certain song reminds me of a certain time or place. And other songs I can't listen to for exactly that reason (hence my only recently rectified aversion to REM - who I still think suck, not to mention whine, but at least I don't cry or anything anymore). But why am I so able to say what I don't like when I find it impossible to specify what I do like? Is it down to my inability to make a decision, my seeming lack of any positive views when it comes to myself and my interests? One thing that is sure is that I listen to the music I listen to because I have, in some way or another, been told to listen to that. That's what happens if you go out with music facists, which does appear to be a theme if you look at my relationship history (with the exception of G, admittedly, though he did know a lot about computer games, so you could say that he swapped one electronic format for another - because let's face it, there's no music without electricity anymore, unfortunatel). But I digress...

I have to say that the only music that makes me have THAT feeling inside (without the help of class A's) is classical music. Maybe because I was brought up on it, or because at one point, it meant so much to me. But that in itself is so annoying as I know nothing about it now. After everything started falling apart, I distanced myself from that, and once I moved to London, I was more interested in losing my mind than anything else. So although I love it, I can't listen to classical music without feeling sad. But it's not sad in a bad way, more a melancholy and a lingering sense of regret. I don't get sick of listening to pieces of classical music (with some exceptions) whereas I find that I go through endless stages and cycles with other music. I guess just an overall feeling of animosity towards it isn't that bad - you always know where you are etc. It just so happens that "where you are" translates as "in the shit".

So, what music do I actually like? Who fucking knows.

The Flying Finn fails to take off?

Is it just me or did Kimi Raikkonen get fat?

In other news, I have hurt my leg in one of the most comedy accidents of the year, and I am not looking forward to explaining to the doctor what happened. Hilarity.

I have so much work to do for uni. I think I might be a bit stupid.

Non, je ne regret rien...

I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to everyone in the Herne Hill area for being subjected to my singing last night. There really was no need for you all to have been forced to listen to me and #1 singing while tanked up to the eyes with beer and gin. Using a banana for a microphone. If it's any consolation, I have an enormous bruise on my leg at exactly table height.

I would also like to apologise to someone for the way I have been acting towards him. I shouldn't have ruined the night out by announcing "I feel so empty" in the middle of the dancefloor, and I shouldn't have been so generally mean. And I shouldn't have made him accidentally on purpose miss his train.

I guess I should also apologise for throwing that tea down the sink and I think I owe another apology for various other things. Right. Now on with a fresh new week...

Confessions

Hokay, some confessions... brought about as I am drunk and in a weird mood:

1. I actually really fancy Eminem. Say what you like, he is the sex. Though less so that Thierry Henry, who is the epitome of sex and va-va-voom all rolled into one.

2. I have signed up to an internet dating site. This has 2 purposes:
- I plan to get many, many a free meal out of this - "oh what, you want to go to the cinema... Can't we go get food first?" (this is part of my super ingenious dieting plan that is a) derogatory and b) vaguely familiar to anyone who has read the Bridget Jones books)
- it's blatantly going to be funny to read about... does anyone remember the last date I went on?? No?? That's because I didn't write about it. It involved me necking a bottle of wine, telling my date that he was never going to make it in either his career or his attempts with women, and then pissing off, leaving him with the bill. He was well boring though, so allow.

3. I am categorically nasty to people I like/who like me. For example, tonight I get a text saying "I can't wait to see you, I have a surprise for you, wish you were here" (and all that sentimental claptrap) and I text back "I'll try to stave off the excitement. I think I'm busy..." Why do I do this? I told the boy I like that sure he can stay round, there's plenty of space on the balcony.

4. Whenever I think about my ex I feel a bit sick. Today in Victoria train station I thought I was going to fall over because omg that's where we saton our suitcases, and that's where we smoked some fags, and over there, that's where we made some crazy plans, and you see that - that's where we thought it would always be like this. Every street in London (and beyond) is the scene of some falling out, some drama, some making up, something. I do a damn good job of not thinking about him but... Hmm. I don't miss him. I just miss "us".

5. I really like university. I really like all the people I met. I really like the boy I met the other day who I thought I didn't like but now I think is ace.

6. I am well and truly cracking up. I shake a lot and I say it's coffee but it's not.

Elvis was a hero to most but he didn't mean shit to me.

Less whining, more facts,

Enough of my whinging, this is what I have really been up to recently:

On Thursday, SB and I went to see The Alchemist at the National. It was really funny - like, laugh out loud funny that I forgot you got from Ben Jonson plays. It's been so long since I've been to the theatre (the last time, I think (other than some outdoor stuff), was in February or so when I went with lots of work people to see Playing With Fire, or something like that - it was terrible). SB got us cheap tickets (thanks, Travelex!) and amazingly the National seem to have sorted out their heating problem as it was possible to take off coats and scarves. Anyway, after stuffing our faces with Chinese food, we rocked up at the theatre and managed not to fall over getting to our seats (is it just me, or does the seating in the NT not seem very precarious? It might just be me...), and skimmed through the cast list to at least try and figure out something about the play. It took a good ten minutes to adjust to the language being used. Although I studied English Literature A Level, and even did Ben Jonson, this was a good four years ago, and my working knowledge of old English has regressed since then, unsurprisingly (indeed, my knowledge of English in general has been steadily declining though unfortunately this does not mean any other language has particularly gained...). I can barely remember the plot of Volpone, although I remember something about a tortoise. Anyway, the play was ace. The cast were excellent, and there was a live band, which is always nice. The only downside was that it was very long, especially the first half. I'm going to start going to the theatre more, I reckon. It's just laziness that means that I have no cultural capital.

Actually, on Thursday I managed a great deal of culture as before I met SB, I went to the British Museum and had a nosey around the China rooms. I liked the calligraphy but I'm not all that hot on bits of broken pot. Call me a philistine, but whatevs, it's a pot. To counteract all this culture, SB and I went down to Goldsmiths to what had been described as "bands and an indie disco until 2". What a pack of lies. For one, the band (singular, the others had cancelled) was shite - one song had the lyrics "liar liar pants are on fire", which would have been amusing if they hadn't been so dreadful. We were like the oldest people there - everyone was super trendy and the only people who spoke to us were two very endearing but no doubt intensely irritating 18 year olds. There were no hot men. The bar shut at 12. We left, via a toilet that smelt like a Glaswigan council estate, and beat a hasty retreat to the mean streets of New Cross, where it took us about an hour to get home in the pouring rain. A small Chinese man in an army helmet and goggles chatted to us.

On Friday I was woken up with a steaming cup of tea, which is pretty darn perfect in my books. I wandered over to uni later in the day and chatted to one of my new friends, and to a very lively American girl, before going to meet the people on my course. There's about 20 of us, including, bizarrely, a girl who I sat next to in A Level History. I swear, Hills Road Sixth Form is taking over. Everyone on the course seems nice, and our convenor is sweet though very odd. I saw him again yesterday and said hi but I don't think he knew who I was. After the talk, I went to the pub with some people from my course and I felt a bit inadequate as they're all very clever and know lots, but I guess I just have to not be silly as I wouldn't be there if I wasn't good enough, right? After a couple of pints I went to meet S and D at the Fitzrovia, where the night of abject silliness began. We had some drinks there and then went to Old Street, where we wandered aroudn trying to find a bar no one knew the name of, which turned out to be terrible. I was in a foul mood by then, and was muttering "for fuck's SAKE!" at pretty much every given opportunity. D had two of her friends with her. They were insanely posh, and I didn't feel like I had anything to say to them cos, y'know, I don't have a horse or like shooting things or whatever. I dunno, I guess they were nice. We left the lame bar and went to a Wetherspoons where I read Heat magazine and drank sambuca. Eventually we decided to go to Crush. We got there half an hour before closing so convinced them (or S did, rather) to let us in for free, and I then ran around like a stupid and I vaguely remember talking to people but I honestly don't remember all that much. On the way home I spoke in Spanish to everyone - according to S, I was saying something like "can I have your room for the night and can you make me breakfast?" - and some randoms apparently hugged me and asked me to come and smoke some spliffs with them, but I don't remember this either. We got back to S's and there was a fight, and I tried to invigilate and then we ate some food and then I stole the bed. For some reason I was convinced the whole time that I was sober. I clearly wasn't.

Waking up on Saturday morning was one of those moments... you know the sort: open one eye.. Am I alone? (check) Am I dressed? (check) Where the fuck am I? (errr, check??) Did I call anyone inappropriate last night? (thankfully, I resisted this one!) I had one of those hangovers that you only get from really mixing your drinks. S woke up shortly after and together we have formulated at least a partial story of the night before. Everything seemed to be getting better but then I ate a toffee yoghurt and got a phone call and was like, oh yeah, I saw that guy I shagged. I went home: was mocked. Mocked I tell you. I ate some soup. I spewed. I went into uni and signed up for societies and nearly spewed again and then went to Superdrug where I was mocked again. So I went home.

Saturday night was spent dealing with #1 and the hospital and the loveliest paramedics in the world and trying to steal from the hospital, and all sorts like that. I felt rough as fuck but managed to hold it all together despite only managing two hours sleep, and was quite organised. Sunday was passed in much the same way, with ghost writing an article for the newspaper being one of my duties - made possible god knows how, seeing as I at one point fell over with exhaustion. #1 is much better now though obviously still in lots of pain, but that's what painkillers are for.

This week I have been at uni and have got some reading done already, and chatted lots to people on my course. It turns out that my Politics class should be okay, but Anthropology.. well, that's a whole different matter. I had my first language class too, and although I was probably one of the better ones in the class, no one is anywhere near the standard our teacher wants.

Last night I spoke to the boy for the first time in ages. He called yesterday morning and I was really rude to him. I think things are most definitely not on track - and it's mostly my fault as I forgot to call him on his birthday, and then didn't call the next few days, and then cancelled our date without telling him, and then was rude to him. Oh whatever though, seriously. He irritates me sometimes. And then I feel bad saying that as whenever we're together, I really like him and we act all silly. I'm pretty sure that he was shagging someone else last weekend, but I actually don't give a toss as that's precisely what I do (given half a chance, of course - and not at the moment, given the drought!). The drought is coming to an end as G is coming to stay soon, which'll be fun. I've really missed him. If he wasn't so crap, he would be great. But he's crap, as am I, so we always forget to call each other.

In other news, I am joining a gym. It's all part of a plan to try and con lots of free meals out of people. All my friends who have jobs will be getting a call soon asking if they'd like to take me out for dinner. I'll do the whole impoverished student line, which will be far more effective if I look a bit skinny. Also, I'm fed up of being so fat. I weighed myself when I was at my parents house and eeek. Obviously I weigh far more than when I was my skinniest (though when I was telling my mum, she did point out that I looked ill back then and I was only that skinny because I was seriously depressed and didn't eat anything at all) but I think some sort of happy medium would be good. I know I'm probably not meant to go to the gym, what with my hip, but y'know. Especially as it's getting worse, and my knee (where I tore a ligament when I was 10) hurts now too. Whatever, I'm having physiotherapy, and I don't see that swimming and pilates and stuff can hurt? Maybe I'll just do that at the gym. The machines look a bit scary - there's no way in hell I will be able to work those. I can barely work my alarm clock, and even that seems a bit tenuous, given that I woke up at 11 today. [haha, I knew I would be able to fit some whining into this entry!!]

Right, I need to go and read my books now.

I can't be your superman

This weekend has not turned out quite how I expected. I am absolutely shattered but pleased that things are okay, and glad that I was able to help. I think I am very good at looking after people and in fact I have a very comprehensive medical knowledge (a hidden talent, perhaps?), but now I am tired and worried that I can't cope. And I can't tell anyone that I am going mad, and that I think something is seriously wrong, or that I can't walk properly, because I'm the responsible one and I have to remember medication times and be supportive and make things as easy as possible, but I think it would be really nice if someone could come and look after me for a bit.