volcanic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- yes, i'm REALLY going... If the words goldilox and yaki braid mean anything to you, you'll have a fair idea why my fingers have become gnarled and arthritic overnight, and why my eyes look like the "before" photo on ads for expensive eye-cream. I put a full head's worth of extensions in my best friend's hair last night; it took seven and a half hours, and I finally got to bed at 4.30am. To say I'm knackered is an understatement. That said, it was one of the most pleasurable experiences I've had in a long time: my best friend's going to Spain for a four or five month stay next week, so every extra moment we get to spend together has added poignancy right now. If we hadn't arranged the mammoth braiding session, we'd never have got to share those hours- she simply has too much to do at the moment, packing up her family and her house and her life ready for their great adventure. The opportunity to sit together in enforced closeness, listening to the World Service and chatting, was a rare treat for us both. The children were in bed, and it was just me and her, reminiscing about the last nine years and laughing excessively- especially as exhaustion set in, and the radio reports- the one about a jolly Welshman who's single-handedly re-establishing endangered species in Mauritius sticks in my mind- took on an endearingly surreal nature. She's off on a big adventure, and so am I. We drove off to my hometown-to-be today, for the University Open day. After three hours sleep apiece, we were pretty pooped, but that was useful, really, because it meant we didn't have excess energy to waste dawdling and lingering. We did what needed to be done, and then went off in search of a vegetarian cooked breakfast. I met one of my tutors, and came away feeling incredibly excited about the whole thing. To bring everyone up to speed: I've been accepted to do a degree course in Writing & English. This means that me and Fatboy are going to be moving away to the seaside for the next three years. And if the Uni. accommodation lady has her way, we'll be living in a mobile home, which thrills me to bits. I don't know if that's going to happen yet, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed because the thought of being trailer trash and mincing around in hotpants and high-heeled wooden mules, sporting a frosted crispy perm is very exciting indeed. [Yes, of course I'm joking- I'm going to be on the Welsh coast as opposed to the Deep South of anywhere. I was on the beach there today, and felt quite distressed on behalf of the people who were obviously there on their summer holidays on the futile assumption that in July that they'd have a bit of sunshine and hotness... ] It was very strange to be walking around the campus with my friend and her baby, while most of the other students-to-be were with their teachers or parents. The only problem I've got with my age compared to theirs is that they all looked fresh and dewy (well, apart from the ones with florid outbreaks of acne), whereas I looked wrinkly, tired and a bit dehydrated. Everything else about being a student at the ripe old age of 32 is incredibly stimulating: I've got plenty of experience and perhaps a little wisdom, too; I can hold my own in debates about politics, ethics and morality; instead of opinions, I've got informed opinions, and best of all, I want to be there just doing it more than I've ever wanted anything. There's no denying the fact that I've surprised a lot of people by making this decision. I suspect that I still have detractors who still don't really believe that I'm going- the cleaner at work is one of them. "You're not really going, are you?" she asks, most days. Nothing I say or do seems to convince her that yes, I really am going... ...and I can't bloody wait! 7:59 a.m. - 03.07.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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