"Why don't you just cheer the hell up?"

This week I have been trying not to spaz out so much. So far I haven't cried at school, although I was very close to walking out of class yesterday. Partly because I felt very uncomfortable, and partly because it was the biggest waste of time. Instead I whinged about it for a good 30 minutes, much to the amusement (?) of some and the visible distress of one girl, who is very nice but I think her niceness may be the main stumbling block. It was seriously a pointless lecture though. I have very little inclination to learn how "post-modernist" and "post-structuralist" as used interchangeably as labels. For a while I was staring into space trying to remember what SB had done for her A-Levels, and it was only when I was telling this story much later that I remembered the subject that had previously escaped me - psychology.

On Monday, F let me cut his hair. I was very nervous (as noted by some people, as they could see my hands shaking - thankfully F didn't hear, and my hands often shake anyway, so I'm fairly used to it) but it turned out okay! The grand event took place in the soas bar. F asked the barman if it was okay, and surprisingly, he said yes. I was a little concerned that it might go horribly wrong and it might be one of those situations where you wish you'd never said anything at all, and especially nothing like "oh, I'll cut your hair!"... Halfway through, I started thinking that I must know a bit how doctors feel, cutting patients and stuff, and that I suddenly had a new understanding of the medical profession, and that maybe I oculd have been a doctor after all as all you need is a smattering of knowledge and a healthy dose of bravado... Thankfully I soon came to my senses and realised that cutting F's hair is NOTHING like when M had to do her first operation and cut that mole of that guy's arm, and that I should shut the fuck up.

Part of me wishes I had done a science degree as I think it would be more useful, and I would really appreciate having tangible answers and facts and general coherance. I think I hate academia. I want to be a scientist. Obviously it's far too late for this, though my psychologist said I would have been a very good scientist if it wasn't for the fact that I have a very poor grasp of basic numeracy.

On Friday I finally went to the Korean restaurant everyone had been talking about. It was nice, but even better was the conversation, which I wouldn't have been averse to continuing forever were it not for the fact that the restaurant closed and so we wandered about and went into a building that looked like the embodiment of the Third Reich. I went home and got very drunk with #1 and #5. #5 went to bed and #1 made me upset and I felt like a bad person. I don't really remember all that much about what happened next. I was woken up the next morning by #5 who started laughing at me as I was lying on top of my bed with the light on, my glasses on and a book clutched in my hand. The glasses are now fucked, as the frame is quite twisted. They have also left a bruise on my face. Still, I take it as a sign of my hardcore status that I went from what was clearly a pitiful wreck to sitting in a restaurant within an hour, reading the weekend papers.

I saw the James Bond film again. I thought it was awesome again. Everyone should go and see it. Daniel Craig (or Craig David, as F keeps calling him) is the sex. Truly, THE SEX. The kind of sex where you break furniture. You know what I mean. After we'd watched that, we went into Chinatown for a big meal. And I mean big. I had a proper pot belly afterwards, which I was alternately proud and ashamed of. I saw some squid in a restaurant window and I now have more questions about squid anatomy than is really necessary.