I can has journal.

Looking at pictures of Alain Delon (the face of Raoul des Sablières) with rosinarowantree  has made me long to be on a yacht anchored in some sun-soaked bay of a deserted Greek island with a topless Frenchman.

A conversation I had tonight:

Mum: Are you coming back to Birmingham after New Year's?
Me: No, I think I need to stay in Oxford and revise. No, wait! Yes! I need to come back to do the Master's application!
Mum: Do you need to be in Oxford for that?
Me: No, I can't do that on my own! I need you!
Mum: Okay so; you can come back until term starts.
Me: No! Collections will be on the Friday before the Sunday of the 17th! Argh! I need to be back by the 10th, at the latest; I need to revise really well; I'll only stay a week. A weekend. There's only six months until finals now.
Mum: ... You've said. You do whatever you want to do, darling. Do you want to get the train back?
Me: I don't know!
Mum: Well, I'll ask your father if he can drive you down on Thursday; God knows he's not doing anything else. I'll give you some chocolates to bring down for New Year's; I'll never eat all the ones from the patients. Any particular ones you want?
Me: I DON'T KNOW!
Mum: ... Why don't you think on it for 24 hours?

Even if someone asks me what I want for dinner I panic and say I CAN'T MAKE DECISIONS LIKE THAT I JUST DON'T KNOW, and I cannot watch the television without writing notes on something or doing Hebrew, because I left all my Greek at home in Oxford so that I would have a proper rest. I think I have actually flipped.

p.s. I think seeing how much weight I have been gaining at home might be a factor in the panics/need to return to Oxford...

If you want to learn the Hebrew aleph-bet by the end of the day, WATCH THIS VIDEO.

If you want to remain sane by the end of the day, DO NOT WATCH THIS VIDEO.

It is hideously annoying and hideously useful; it is truly a Faustian pact. Learn the aleph-bet with the absolute minimum of effort; think that "KILL EVERYONE" is a perfectly valid answer to any question.

Once again, Quenya is proving extremely useful - the vowels are almost exactly the same as in Hebrew. YOU ALL MOCKED.

I am most bouncy and excited about spending New Year's in Oxford with lovely peoples - it'll be my first New Years not spent with parents and their friends. Exciting stuff. I might be going to London on the next day; nothing is sorted yet. My cousin was indeed out for Christmas; it's unknown whether any charges will be made against his sister.

Today was the best Christmas day I have had in years. No Drunkle Ken, Dad fell asleep on the sofa quite inoffensively, LUKE AND MATTHEW CALLED HIM ON HIS SEXISM I AM SO PROUD OF THEM, presssentssss, just ate ice cream, etc. The best thing was, by far, working at the church though. It was wonderful; I was mainly fetching drinks and talking to the early-comers. Just feeling very happy and at peace with the world.

I know that Midnight Mass was last night, but I was much more moved this morning. On the way to the church, when I was in the car with Mum, Mary's Boy-child came on the radio, which was Kit's very favourite song, after Were You There When They Crucified My Lord? We listened, and when it came to the line "And man will live for evermore because of Christmas day" Mum said "You know, she totally believed that," and I just burst into tears. I sobbed in the car for several minutes; I have a lump in my throat just thinking of it now. Kit had a faith you could build houses on - it is strange to even call it a faith. She did not believe, she knew - she knew it like I know that I am sitting on a chair right now. I can tell you about the various theories concerning the Infancy Narratives and I can read them in Greek and I can give the the years in which they might have happened and what star was shining, but she could honestly move mountains. I miss her so much, sometimes; she made me feel like the most clever, beautiful, special person in the whole world in her eyes.

A Christmas Carol by G. K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O, weary, weary is the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
His hair was like a star.
(O, stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart
His hair was like a fire.
(O, weary, weary is the world
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

I think we are the only family I know who, every Christmas morning, put The Pogues on at full volume throughout the house.

Midnight Mass last night was gorgeous; I got pressed into serving, and we have a MC (Brian), and the most incompetent man in the world who thinks he is MC (Mike) , and the two inevitably clash every Christmas; Matthew giggled the whole way through the service, which made our priest start laughing as well. Then there is Philip, who serves despite being about a hundred and eighteen years old (there is rife debate as to whether he looks more like Mister Burns or Gollum; I am firmly in the latter camp), who had no idea at all what was going on and planted himself on the middle of the sanctuary with a candle until I hushed him along. Then Mike nearly lit the wreath candles in the wrong order (purple, purple, purple, pink, white? I don't think so!)

Ah, wacky Catholic hijinks.

I'm off to the church again in about half an hour; every Christmas we send out about 200 meals around Birmingham, and put on a dinner for about 100 people; I'm helping to set off the hall, then coming back for my own dinner! Nom nom nom. Dad likes to have Christmas Dinner obscenely early, because he is fixated on the idea that dinner has to be finished before the Queen's Speech starts, which is pretty much his only English tradition so he is going to stick with it, by God!

Present highlights:

Dad bought Mum an Enya CD; he prefers soft choral music, Mum goes more in the line of the Pogues, Leonard Cohen, white men singing about how depressing their lives are, etc. (Though she is going through a bit of a Lady Gaga phase at the moment...)

Mum: Why on earth did you get me this?
Dad: You really like her!
Mum: I like Clannad! I've never liked Enya.
Dad: But she's Irish!

Luke got Mum a Compare the Meerkat t-shirt which we were all extremely impressed by. I got a new Bible, Muji stationary and a Teach Yourself Biblical Hebrew book; it's even sadder that I asked for these, and even picked out the editions. I also got Star Trek on DVD and the world's most voluminous skirt! Yay!

Peace and love and happiness and joy to everyone; Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, and have a cracking Friday if you don't!

Thank you so much for all your lovely messages last night - they were of great help. I say with trembling relief that the first draft of my dissertation is SENT, and now I am going to enjoy Christmas! Which in the immediate future involves washing hair for Midnight Mass, but I will do that in a celebratory mood!

And there is snow on the ground in Birmingham! So Christmassy!

Yeah, I'm not going to be sleeping tonight.

FAIL NIGHT IS MADE OF FAIL.

1. DISSERTATION DISSERTATION PANIC PANIC DISSERTATION.

2. My cousin Sean is spending the night in Charing Cross Police Station.

My mum's sister, Angie, has three children: Alison, Vicky, and Sean. Vicky and Sean are so lovely, but Alison is a vile, cunning wretch who has stolen from Angie in the past. It turns out that Alison phoned Sean and asked him to come around; she wanted him to buy some Debenhams vouchers off her. He did so, and went in today to buy Angie's Christmas present. Turns out the vouchers were bought with a stolen credit card, and Sean was arrested.

It looks like it will hopefully be sorted out by tomorrow; Sean is so nice and polite, and told the police exactly what happened. A policeman phoned Angie from the tube and told her that they believe him and he'll be out in time for Christmas, but they are probably going to charge Alison. Good riddance, I say, but the whole house is in an understandable uproar.

Back to dissertation; it will be finished before I sleep, but only God knows when that will be.

I like working at the theater, I do. Nonetheless, sometimes I feel a little bit taken advantage of.

I really hate the idea of working on Christmas, but because I was asking for another day off that (at the time) was more important, I didn't want to push it. Still, I hoped that by volunteering to work at another time when they really needed employees on I might be pushed down to the bottom of the "make these people work on the holidays" list.

Obviously, since I'm writing this, I wasn't.

It both pisses me off and depressed the fuck out of me. And the schedule was sent along with a message that says "Enjoy the hours!" — which is meant to mean, "Yay, we have hours for almost everyone, you'll get paid well!" but to me feels kind of like a slap in the face. And the other people I'll be working with are folks who'll be glad enough to work on Christmas. They either care far more about the money or hate the holiday. That makes it even more depressing — because I'm going to be there, wishing I could be home and surrounded by people who just can't feel sympathy about it.

You know what? This year just sucks in general. I hate it. I really do.

I really wish now that I'd asked for the day off, especially since someone else is apparently taking the entire week off — and I did volunteer for New Year's Eve!

I wish I could at least feel like I might get sympathy from my parents about this, but I'm pretty sure I won't. It's going to be all about getting double pay and about how at least I have the next day off for our stupid fucking holiday party. Have I mentioned before that I tend to dislike our parties? Because I do. And getting shit like this just makes me more bitter about all of it.

So tired. So damned tired. I have not left my staircase in two days; I think I shall have to tomorrow, to get some food and check my pidge. I know it is the last sprint now - I have an informal deadline (a poorly-line) of tomorrow night set for myself, and I think I shall get it done, though what hour of the day I do not know. I am sorry I have been so lax of late in replying to comments, but I read them all, and thank you, and if I may ask for them again, is this snarky enough to read as unobjective? I do not think Tuckett would give a crap about the tone argument...

Fitzmyer’s repeated use of the word “instrument” is an unfortunate one, relegating Mary to the position of an object – or a womb. Instead of being a woman who makes her own decision regarding the whole of her life, Fitzmyer instead makes Mary an object. It is easy to understand how such language could be interpreted as misogynistic – there is a long history of insulting women by referring to them by their sexual body parts – and even academic texts are not immune. Fitzmyer must therefore be accused of the same misunderstanding that the woman in the crowd displays in Luke 11:27, and the same response must be directed to him that Jesus directs to her in verse 28: “While he was saying this, a woman in the crowd raised her voice and said to him, ‘Blessed is the womb that bore you and the breasts that nursed you!’ But he said, ‘Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it!’”

...two of my eggs died, but ONE LIVES ON. I'm sorry — like I said, I'm weak!



Edit: ...so weak.

Thank you to everyone who suggested books with lay female Catholics in them! :D I will add them to my post-Finals reading list...

Aaaarrrghh, dissertation feels like a parasite that is slowly sucking away my will to live. There is so much I could put in, if I had word limit enough and time, but right now I just want to get the first draft finished and sent off.

I posted a short crack!fic at perfect_duet : Jack and Stephen as angels

Last night foreverdirt  came around, and we watched Sharpe's Sword (Father Curtis: what a BAMF), and then I got A Dangerous Man: Lawrence After Arabia working on the DVD player in another staircase! YAY! However wonderful the Nautical Romance is, I think it has to be my favourite film. Ralph Fienne's Lawrence is just perfect - you can see him slowly cracking throughout the film (which is pretty much close-ups on tiny twitches of the mouth or glitter in the eyes, and dialogue that never talks down to you, often including untranslated French and Arabic), and he is the most subtle woobie - the little smiles to himself, sometimes forced, the giggles when he is losing control of the situation, and sometime because he is just about to cry, and Gertrude Bell being awesome, and Feisal/Lawrence being the trufax OTP of woobie trufax.

Last night, foreverdirt  and I were talking about representations of religious belief in literature, and I realised that one of the reasons I identify so much with Stephen is because he is a lay, liberal, practising Catholic. And so I tried to think of a female version, and I couldn't. So, flist, I need your help. I am looking for a character who is:

- female
- lay
- a practising Catholic

This does not include female relatives of important male Catholic characters (for example, the family of Jed Bartlett). Bonus if she is intelligent and uses reason. More bonus if she is not only Catholic because she is in an entirely Catholic environment: for example, a female character set in a novel about Ireland in 900 AD is going to be Catholic by default, unless she is visiting, but it won't be an issue because everyone around her is also Catholic.

Because the only person I could think of was Mrs. Doyle.

I have now passed 20,000 words on my dissertation. THIS IS BAD. It needs to be finished by the 23rd.

My perfect_duet  advent calender submission is for the 21st.

Fuuuuuck.

I wanted to get loads of work done on dissertation tonight, as I've been on a roll all day, but my chest is just making it impossible to concentrate - not the stabbing pain, but the strange feeling all over of imminent cramps, or as though I have sprained every muscle in my torso; it is in my shoulders and arms as well. It is painful, but more in a distracting than debilitating way. I have just cleared 18,000 words, which is also slightly worrying. I think I will call it a rest for the rest of the night; if it eases off I will do more typing later. I have a Bod day planned for tomorrow -it must be finished by the 24th.

I am one of the few people in the GAB now - the only person on my staircase. I have not been out since I came in on Tuesday evening, and the only person I have seen has been Carol as she came in the empty my bin. It is curiously enjoyable - I know I can be an antisocial creature, but it feels very freeing. Strangely enough, seeing no one face to face is actually making me feel less lonely - is that odd? Hmm. I do have internet peoples, of course, but it feels like good practice for possible future research.

This evening, instead of doing productive work, I went through an entire online gallery of El Greco pictures looking for the most Stephenish one.

"Now, sir!" he cried, frowning sternly at a stranger whose face was reflected in a small looking- glass. "Jesus, 'tis myself, behind that beard." A three-weeks' beard: with his sunken, emaciated face, it gave him the look of an El Greco, without the length.

                                                    - Desolation Island

I edited it slightly to make the eyes paler, and this was my choice!



Yes he is cos-playing as a Trinitarian monk don't judge he can do whatever he wants at the weekend.

Extra-special mention in this post goes to proskynesis , who is a pedobear for El Greco hands.