Sometimes* I get sick of being so freaking special.**

I mean, I know I'm good at some stuff. I can translate Latin (well, with a dictionary), I can be very diplomatic when I want to be and am good at knowing what to say to people, I can write, I can even integrate equations with more letters than numbers.

And yet I fail at the simplest tasks, which makes me look really dumb and, well, special.

Like just now, strangely enough. I couldn't figure out how to use trinityblack's washing machine. Well, I THOUGHT I was doing it right, but I evidently wasn't. So my poor mum gets a panicked phone call from her intelligent daughter, who has just completed a second year in her Classics degree at one of the best universities in the country, asking her what the hell she should do about a huge pile of sopping wet clothes with no tumble dryer.

She was very patient and lovely, and if she was trying not to laugh, she hid it well.

It's just - university has made me stupider, I swear. I make special mistakes and do dumb things a whole lot more now. People laugh and say it's cute/blonde/special/what makes me me, but it's actually starting to get to me. I'm sick of having to ask people to help me with things when I inevitably fuck them up.

Want a translation of Georgics book 4? I can totally do that, though I'll bitch about bees. Need someone to put clothes on a spin cycle? Oh no, that's apparently beyond me.

Medieval banquet for 100 people, with catering and entertainment? Easy. Remembering to attend a seminar? Ooh, I'm nowhere near organised enough for that.

Talking to someone upset long enough to find the root of their problems and helping them through it? Second nature. Being able to deal with my OWN? Not happening.

Grargh.







* Hormones are usually involved.

** That's "special", btw. Not special as in "You have a special place in my heart", but "Nononono don't eat the paste it's not nice."

So... Banquet's over.

It ended up going really really well. The hall looked amazing, thanks to everyone who decorated it while I had to duck out to have lunch with my mum, and the food was great, mead was plentiful, and everyone just seemed to have a really great time. I certainly managed to, which I must admit I hadn't been expecting.

So it was fantastic. I was hit on many times by many people, and had Dave and Dom encouraging me practically all evening to "HIT THAT" in regards to one guy who appeared to like me - I believe Barnas actually went and asked whether he wanted to 'bang me over a table' (Barnas was drunk off his face) and he responded in the affirmative - and generally had my self-esteem boosted several levels.

You may be wondering why I'm not using more exclamation marks to squee. Frankly, right now, I feel pretty rubbish, and while I know it was awesome, I'm not feeling it yet.

I got less that 4 hours sleep on top of some of the wall hangings. I'm not sure exactly how long - all I know is we left the disabled toilet (we all got thirsty at the same time) after 3am. After that we chatted some more, then made up a bed with what fabric we could find. I didn't sleep well, either, because of various noises the hall was making, only having a curtain as a blanket, and being wedged in tightly between Dan and Beccy.

Anyway, at 7am, Tim woke me up so I could start tidying. He hadn't slept at all. He's been awesome throughout organising Banquet. So we put all the chairs back in the other room, wiped milk pudding off the walls, took the hangings down, put the blinds back up, and tried to figure out what to do with 80 empty bottles.

But it was left tidy. So maybe we won't be banned.

So yeah. Tired. Completely exhausted, actually. Not sure of how to handle sudden stress relief, nor the new stress of essays I've still got to do. And nauseous. Let's not forget nauseous. I'd like to think it was exhaustion etc making me feel ill, but let's face it, it was probably the two bottles of mead I drank.

Earlier I was so tired and nauseous I couldn't even go see Sweeney Todd with the others. Even though I wanted to more than anything. Jackie was leaving (she has now, and it's horrible) and this would be my last real chance to hang out with her, and all my friends were going so now no-one else will want to go with me, and it's SWEENEY TODD. I've been waiting for this since it was green-lit. But I could barely stand upright without getting really dizzy and sick. So I had to stay home, and it sucked. Though I fell asleep again pretty quickly, so it didn't bother me that long.

I'm feeling vaguely more human after a few hours sleep. I can sit upright now, at least. I may self-certify illness for the next few days, though - I get the idea it could take a while to get back to normal. Mum warned me that without Banquet to worry about and without Jackie, next week is probably going to suck for me. She advised I get plenty of chocolate in the house.

So, great. Something else to look forward to.

Oh joy! This entry is swinging towards emo. RUUUUUN.

I have ten minutes to get a grip and pull myself together before I go to ref meeting.

Basically, I just got an essay back. This was my first essay which I actually cared about and spent quite a bit of time on, and really thought I could have done well on.

Yeah. I got a 46.

I'm taking this way harder than I could have expected before. Last year, I didn't really work too hard on essays - they were formative, it was first year - and I still did better than this. Never extraordinarily well, but healthy 2/1s, occasionally 2/2s when I really hadn't been bothered.

The first essay I actually care about and decide to do my best on, I get a third.

It just feels that much worse because I really tried this time, and I still did worse than ever. I'm terrified that this is the best I can do, and I'm just not good enough.

On top of all other stresses - banquet organisation, essays still to be written (now looking that much more terrifying) and general exhaustion from term and work - I'm just feeling really, really knocked down by this. To the extent that even a long phone call to my mum doesn't help (which is REALLY disturbing, my mum's supposed to be able to fix everything) and I can't even face chocolate. MattMatt was really adorable and got me chocolate when he heard I was feeling down, but I just can't face eating it. Because I'm hating that I've put on weight recently and I really don't need my other problems on top of this current one.

I can't go to ref meeting in tears. I keep trying to tell myself that

a) Olwen said the marker was a renowned hard marker and also utter bitch,
b) Everyone else after the tutorial was saying how they'd never done that badly on an essay before,
c) The problems she commented on are potentially fixable

but somehow nothing really works. I still feel like, any moment, people are going to turn round and say, "Hang on, she's not good at Classics after all! What the hell's she doing here??"

I'm used to being good at things. When I was younger, school was practically effortless. GCSEs and A-Levels were harder, of course, and required a lot more work, but I still managed with comparative ease and was amongst the top people in my year.

But suddenly in university, I'm nowhere near the best in my year, and the workload - if I want to do well - seems impossible.

I just want to go home for Christmas. Then, I tell myself, I can get organised and come back ready for next term to attack it properly and work really hard and start getting good marks again.

Or at least, I hope I will.

It's a shame I didn't write on here last night, when I was feeling generally happy and at peace with the world.

There's nothing particularly wrong with me. I'm just feeling a bit less at peace with the world. This may have something to do with the fact I am still quite unfit and climbing Gilesgate hill when already aching from falling over repeatedly in sword practice and feeling a bit low does nothing to help matters.

I still haven't got my new debit card because of the postal strike, and I'm a bit anxious about spending money till I get it back. I'm also anxious about getting the money that was stolen back, and even more nervous about buying things online from now on, which is a slight problem when any train tickets from Durham cost insane amounts unless I buy them in advance on thetrainline.

And now the fire alarm's going off. My wacky day just keeps getting crazier.

My lectures are great right now. The lecturers are interesting and are talking about subjects I actually care about, rather than architecture (again, thank you, Dr Thomas, for dropping out of Latin B). But I just can't find the time to do all the preparatory work I need to. Latins A and B are the most problematic - I hate translating on the spot anyway, and I do not actually have enough time to prepare to a level where I'm confident enough to translate without seizing up under nerves and question every single word.

In Latin B today, I was called upon to translate. I had prepared it - though not as thoroughly as I'd have liked, due to various circumstances, running around trying to sort out my identity theft being one of them - but I didn't have my notes. I'd left in such a hurry, I was lucky to run out of the house with a busted biro. I even had an English translation in front of me, though just reading straight from that is glaringly obvious. So I couldn't do it. My voice runs away leaving a squeak in its place, and it's just too nerve-wracking. So I mumbled about not having my notes with me and the lecturer looked a bit disappointed in me, but let someone else take over.

So now I feel just great.



HALF AN HOUR LATER

I just phoned my mum and basically repeated what I've written there. I now feel much better. So now I'm going to go to Tescos and buy fruit, chocolate fudge brownie ice-cream and something sinful for dinner, and the latest issue of More where apparently someone wrote in fangirling over Sylar.

Mim and I were discussing guys we'd liked when we first came to uni, and over the course of the discussion I realised something about myself which may explain my chronic singletonness.

When I meet someone new, I might start to like them. But as soon as I get the impression they may like me back, my brain immediately screams "Oh my God, they like me! THERE MUST BE SOMETHING HORRIBLY WRONG WITH THEM!!" and I immediately assume they are creepy and weird, and they plummet in my estimation, falling into the deep darkness beneath what I assume to be my 'league'.

Alternatively, they may give no sign whatsoever they like me, or already have a girlfriend. Basically, they appear unattainable. At which point, they will ascend on sunbeams with angelic chorus into the heavenly skies above my 'league', and I will not dream of doing anything or saying anything to show I like them, and will just watch from afar, ignoring the yells and cries of those cast down into the depths for daring to show an interest.

This has the unfortunate side-effect of leaving me entirely alone in my little League.

There are two examples of this:

Guy 1 was all right. We got on well, we had things in common, I started to wonder if I liked him in that way. But then he made the fatal mistake of paying compliments and showing he liked me, and he will forevermore be labelled as 'Creepy Weirdo' in my head. Despite my friends insisting how great he is, and how much he likes me, I just know I can't ever think of him in that way without extensive self-help books.

Guy 2, meanwhile, never showed any sign he liked me. I assumed he liked my other friend, and so, of course, would never dream of telling him how I felt. But then he took me completely by surprise by kissing me, before I had the chance to label him as Creepy Weirdo, so that worked out fine.

Except he dumped me two days later, so I guess it didn't work out that well after all.

Right now, there's one guy I sort of like. I'm not sure yet, but I'm waiting and seeing. I was definitely more certain I liked him before, when he showed no interest in me - but now he has started showing what could be interpreted as interest, I'm suddenly not sure.

So it feels like I'm hanging onto him by his hoodie as the darkness beneath my League tries to drag him down and label him as yet another 'Creepy Weirdo', yelling "Nooo, you're not taking another one!!!"

My brain is an incredibly special place.

Which is just exemplified by my weird dreams last night, where I had to do ballet at my grandma's funeral, and Carrie was a superhero dressed in pink, and my sister turned up saying that she was Peter Petrelli and that Fred Flintstone was on his way to kill me.

And she can't even vent from her own POV because a) that sounds far too angsty and emo ("You don't understand my feelings!! I'm going to go write on my Livejournal!!") and b) she's trying to write a novel so she's stuck in third person narrative mode. However, she doesn't want to write this in the third person either, because that just sounds pretentious and ass-ish.

So, today's Livejournal vent will be hosted by me, Alex, Katie's resident Evil Genius. Not the girl she's known for 16 years. I know I went away for a while, but I seem to be back again.

I warn you now, there's angst ahead.

Anyway, Katie is currently having some problems for various reasons, which I will try to figure out for her.

a) A few minutes ago, she finished watching the Scrubs episodes where Dr Cox gets all depressed when three patients die when he gives them organs infected with rabies. That set her off crying, but oddly, she hasn't been able to stop.

b) When she came home from uni, she discovered that her sister's godfather had died. Just had a heart attack and died. He was only 53. He died in front of his wife. She's known him since she was born. She liked his smile. Her rat was named after him. He died six weeks ago, but her parents didn't tell her because she had enough to be getting on with.

c) Last night, her dad pointed out a bottle of champagne on the table. A man had given it to him. This man was the husband of an old lady in the hospital. Every time my dad walked past her ward, he'd waved at her, and she'd waved back, even though he wasn't her doctor. They'd been doing this for four years.

Katie can't figure out how that last part is related, but I'm pretty sure it is somehow. I'll work it out soon.

Fact is, her old mortality issues have resurfaced. These first started after she gave CPR to that old man having a heart attack. Just like her sister's godfather did, only she wasn't there then. Not that she thinks she did anything pivotal in saving the old man's life. Frankly, she thinks she was doing it wrong.

But when she came across that old man, and she saw the look in his eyes, it terrified her. Because he was staring up at the sky, but he wasn't seeing it. It was like he was looking beyond it, to something else.

Only there was nothing there.

And it hit her then. Everyone was going to die. Everyone she knew now would be dead in a hundred years or so. Billions of people had lived before and were now dead, and only a tiny percentage were still remembered. And after seeing that look in that man's eyes, she couldn't fool herself into believing in any kind of afterlife. There was just... nothing.

That year, she was the only one in her English class who could understand why Philip Larkin was so terrifed of death. He felt the same thing as her, and no-one else could understand why death being nothingness was so terrible.

"It's not like you're aware of it!"

"... but you're not aware of ANYTHING. EVER AGAIN. There's just nothing... forever."

"Yes, but that's what it was like before we were born!"

"... EXACTLY."

I apologise now for the increasing angst in this note.

So, anyway, yeah. Her issues are back. She's always feared the unknown - she blames a lot of her relationship issues on this fact - and death is the ultimate. She still feels a slight jolt every time she remembers that Mort's dead.

She's now very aware that she's going to die one day. Any day. She could die tomorrow, and that would be it. Forever. She doesn't believe in an afterlife, or ghosts, or reincarnation, or anything like that - which is surprising she's chosen those topics for her summer novel - so it feels like the rest of her life is just mucking around until the end.

And now we get onto the third part of her problems mentioned earlier. Her dad has this amazing influence on so many people, and helps them all, and is just fantastic. She'll never tell him this, because both she and him would find it incredibly uncomfortable. But he is. Like her sister's godfather, he has been an amazing person, helping people, and though he's dead, will be remembered fondly.

Has Katie been a good person??? No, no she hasn't. People tell her she is, but she doesn't think she is. Most good things she does are for her own selfish reasons, even if it's just for attention and gratitude gained. How horrid is that?? She has issues with needing to feel needed and appreciated, and she's figured being a nice person is the best way to go about it, so that's why she's nice. Maybe there's some compassion there, but deep down, it's all about her. God, what a bitch.

She could have studied medicine. It would have been hard, and she'd have been unhappy, but she'd have been helping other people. But no, she does Classics! Most useless degree in the world!! And spends all her money on LARP stuff - what, dressing up and running around in the woods with other people in extreme escapism?? She could be using that time and money to help others, but again, she's become such a more selfish person in the last year. And she hates it.

She's having extreme doubts about posting this now.

So, that's her problem. She's not a good person, and she's going to die, and that'll be it. Forever. Oh, and she's fat and unfit. Don't forget that.

Oh, and a person at the door just thought she owned her house. No idea what that has to do with anything.

She'll be fine soon. Frankie and Carys will be here, they'll swap iPod songs and play on Lego Star Wars and drink Midori and she'll soon be able to suppress all these issues again to be vented through trichotillomania, compulsive fidgeting habits and comfort eating.

Then she'll just need to worry about the fact that the character she created in her head is on its way to becoming a fully-fledged alternate personality which she allows to take over when she can't handle something. Yeah. That's not good.

Apologies for angst. I'll stop now.